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GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS 


FROM 


A  PASTOR'S   PORTFOLIO, 


REV,  JOSHUA  N,  DANFORTH, 


"But  where  shall  wisdom  be  found,  and  where  is  the  place  of  understanding  t 


NEW  YORK: 
PUBLISHED    BY    A.  S.  BARNES   &  CO., 

No.  51   JOHN-STREET. 
CINCINNATI :— H.  W.  DERBY  &  CO. 

1852. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  Eighteen  Hundred  and  Fifty-one, 
BY  A.  S.  BARNES  &  COMPANY, 

In  the  Cierk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


RICHARD   C.  VALENTINE, 
Nnw  YORK. 


A.  S.  BARNES  &  Co..  Printers, 
Corner  of  John  and  Dutch  street*. 


PS 


-  f\t 


PREFACE. 


IF  "  of  making  many  books  there  is  no  end,"  it  is 
some  consolation  to  an  author,  that  the  generation  of 
readers  never  dies  ;  and  a  still  greater  one  to  readers, 
that  they  can  make  their  own  selections  from  a  contin 
ually  enlarging  field.  Among  the  chartered  elements 
of  freedom  in  this  noble  country  are  the  pen  and  the 
press.  Men  may  think  what  they  please,  and  write 
what  they  think,  so  that  they  invade  no  prerogative 
of  God,  violate  no  dictates  of  a  sound  conscience,  and 
trespass  on  no  rights  of  their  fellow-men.  At  the  same 
time  they  should  maintain  a  manly  intimacy  with  truth, 
and  cherish  a  warm  congeniality  with  the  spirit  of  hu 
manity  and  progressive  knowledge.  The  contents  of 
the  following  pages  are  not  hasty  effusions,  the  results 
of  the  random  impulse  of  the  moment,  or  the  amuse 
ment  of  an  idle  hour,  or  the  dreams  of  a  vagrant  ima 
gination.  Such  as  they  are,  they  have  been  well  con 
sidered,  being  the  fruits  of  mature  reflection.  Less 
than  this,  a  due  and  decent  respect  for  the  public  would 
forbid.  Less  than  this,  the  proper  respect  of  an  author 
for  himself  would  not  allow. 

This  volume  is  miscellaneous ;  sketching  a  scene 
here,  drawing  a  portrait  there  ;  now  endeavoring  to  in 
spire  a  love  of  truth  and  beauty  by  drawing  from  the 


PBEFACE. 


resources  of  Nature  and  Kevelation ;  now  appealing  to 
facts  in  individual  and  general  history  to  illustrate  prin 
ciples.  Domestic  life  and  love  ever  reflecting  a  charm 
on  our  common  humanity ;  the  sweet  and  impressive 
lessons  of  the  revolving  seasons ;  the  light,  the  loveli 
ness,  and  the  loftiness  of  poetry,  as  emanating  from  the 
master-spirits  of  their  respective  generations  ;  the  sub 
lime  heroism  of  men  who,  in  the  exercise  of  a  calm  faith 
and  burning  devotion,  have  commanded  the  homage  of 
the  good,  and  received  the  approving  smile  of  Heaven ; — 
these  are  among  the  leading  themes  of  contemplation 
in  this  book.' 

Our  religious  literature  is  in  its  formation  state. 
I  would  contribute  a  stone  to  what  is  yet  to  be  a  beau 
tiful  structure.  One  flower  may  I  be  permitted  to  plant 
in  this  growing  garden ;  to  deposit  one  gem  in  our 
home  cabinet,  destined  yet  to  compare  well  with  the 
rich  collections  of  other  nations.  There  should  be  more 
patriotism  in  our  literature.  This  mighty  sentiment 
has  immense  moral  power  to  sustain  us  as  a  nation. 
We  must  contend  also  for  a  national  literature  that  shall 
be  ancillary,  not  antagonistic  to  the  spirit  of  Christian 
ity.  While  we  admire  and  revere  the  men  of  genius, 
the  heroic  and  the  devoted  spirits  of  other  days,  we 
should  not  forget  our  own  capabilities.  A  noble  field 
have  we  to  cultivate.  Let  none  be  ashamed  to  work  in 
it.  The  learned  astronomer  demonstrates  the  laws  of 
the  universe ;  the  humble  pilot  guides  his  bark ;  the 
industrious  mechanic  plies  his  tools.  Each  fills  his 
sphere.  With  us  so  let  it  be.  Let  us  be  content  with  "  a 
fit  audience,  though  few."  In  the  language  of  Black- 
wood  :  "  And  why  not  sing  for  a  small  audience  as  well 


PREFACE. 


as  for  a  great  ?  It  is  not  every  Colin  that  can  pipe  that 
can  now  expect  to  draw  the  whole  countiy-side  to  listen 
to  him.  What  if  he  can  please  only  a  quiet  domestic 
gathering,  his  neighbors  or  his  clan  ?  "We  are  not  of 
those  who  would  tell  Colin  to  lay  down  his  pipe :  we 
might  whisper  in  his  ear  to  mind  his  sheep  as  well,  and 
not  to  break  his  heart,  or  disturb  his  peace,  because 
some  sixty  persons,  and  not  six  thousand,  are  grateful 
for  his  minstrelsy." 

ALEXANDRIA,  VA.,  DECEMBER,  1851. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

I.  Thoughts  on  Home 9 

II.  Things  Essential  to  a  Happy  Home 13 

III.  The  Everlasting  Home 19 

IV.  Mother,  Dear  Mother 23 

V.  The  Family— Its  Different  Aspects 26 

VI.  The  Sabbath  and  the  Family 31 

VII.  My  First  Affliction 41 

VIII.  The  Grave  of  my  Daughter 45 

IX.  A  Funeral  in  the  Country 49 

X.  Congressional  Cemetery 63 

XL  The  Dead  of  the  Princeton 64 

XII.  The  Funeral  of  Taylor 76 

XIII.  Summerfield,  Nevins,  Larned,  and  Cornelius 84 

XIV.  The  Shades  of  Mount  Vernon 91 

XV.  The  Last  Day  of  Summer 101 

XVL  The  Last  Day  of  Autumn 106 

XVIL  The  Last  Day  of  Winter 114 

XVIII.  The  Last  Day  of  the  Year 120 

XIX.  The  Opening  Year 123 

XX.  The  Sabbath-Day 128 

XXI.  The  Sabbaths  of  the  Last  Year 132 

XXII.  The  Six  Mornings 137 

XXIII.  The  Spirit  of  Beauty 144 

XXIV.  Beauty  and  Goodness 151 

XXV.  The  Influence  of  the  Fine  Arts  on  the  Moral  Sensibilities.  157 

XXVL  The  Six  Johns ..  175 


COXTKNTS. 


PAGE. 

XXVIL  The  Genius  of  Goldsmith 204 

XXVIII.  The  Comusof  Milton 220 

XXIX.  The  Genius  of  Thomson 232 

XXX.  The  Genius  of  Cowper 24*7 

XXXI.  The  Genius  of  Byron 258 

XXXII.  The  Genius  of  Young 274 

XXXIII.  The  Genius  of  Scott 289 

XXXIV.  Cowper  and  Byron  Contrasted 293 

XXXV.  William  Wirt 298 

XXXVI.  Elizabeth  Bunyan .'.  309 

XXXVII.  Rev.  John  Summerfield 324 

XXXVIII.  Rev.  Sylvester  Larned 341 


GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS, 


I, 

(ChotrgljtQ  on 

THIS  is  a  sweet  word.  Who  is  not  charmed  with  its 
music?  Who  hath  not  felt  the  potent  magic  of  its 
spell  ? 

By  Home  I  do  not  mean  the  house,  the  parlor,  the 
fireside,  the  carpet,  or  the  chairs.  They  are  inert,  ma 
terial  things,  which  derive  all  their  interest  from  the 
idea  of  the  Home  which  is  their  locality.  Home  is 
something  more  ethereal,  less  tangible,  not  easily  de 
scribed,  yet  strongly  conceived — the  source  of  some  of 
the  deepest  emotions  of  the  soul,  grasping  the  heart 
strings  with  such  a  sweet  and  tender  force,  as  subdues 
all  within  the  range  of  its  influence. 

Home  is  the  palace  of  the  husband  and  the  father. 
He  is  the  monarch  of  that  little  empire,  wearing  a 
crown  that  is  the  gift  of  Heaven,  swaying  a  scepter  put 
into  his  hands  by  the  Father  of  all,  acknowledging  no 
superior,  fearing  no  rival,  and  dreading  no  usurper. 
In  him  dwells  Love — the  ruling  spirit  of  home.  She 
that  was  the  fond  bride  of  his  youthful  heart,  is  the 
affectionate  wife  of  his  maturer  years. 

The  star  that  smiled  on  their  bridal  eve  has  never 
1* 


10  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 

set.  Its  rays  still  shed  a  serene  lustre  on  the  horizon 
of  home.  There,  too,  is  the  additional  ornament  of 
home — the  circle  of  children,  beautifully  represented  by 
the  Spirit  of  inspiration  as  "  olive-plants  round  about 
the  table."  We  have  been  such.  There  was  our  cra 
dle.  That  cradle  was  rocked  by  a  hand  ever  open  to 
supply  our  wants ;  watched  by  an  eye  ever  awake  to 
the  approach  of  danger.  Many  a  live-long  night  has 
that  eye  refused  to  be  closed  for  thy  sake,  reader,  when 
thou,  a  helpless  child,  wast  indebted  to  a  mother's  love, 
sanctified  by  Heaven's  blessing,  for  a  prolonged  exist 
ence  through  a  sickly  infancy.  Hast  thou  ever  grieved 
that  fond  heart  ?  No  tears  can  be  too  freely — too  sin 
cerely  shed  for  such  an  offense  against  the  sweet  chari 
ties  of  home.  If  there  was  joy  in  the  parlor  at  thy 
birth,  oh,  never  let  it  be  turned  into  sorrow  by  any 
violation  of  the  sacred  laws  of  home. 

"We  who  had  our  happy  birth,  like  most  of  the  human 
race,  in  the  country,  can  recall  many  tender  and  pleas 
ant  associations  of  home.  There  is  earnest  poetry  in 
this  part  of  our  life.  We  remember  with  delight  the 
freshness  of  the  early  morn ;  the  tuneful  and  sprightly 
walk  among  the  dewy  fields ;  the  cool  repose  amid  the 
sequestered  shades  of  the  grove,  vocal  with  the  music 
of  Nature's  inimitable  warblers ;  the  "  tinkling  spring," 
where  we  slaked  our  thirst  with  the  pellucid  waters,  as 
they  came  from  the  hand  of  the  Mighty  One — the 
bleating  of  the  flocks,  the  lowing  of  the  herds,  the  hum 
ming  of  the  bees,  the  cry  of  the  whippowil,  the  mel 
ancholy,  monotonous  song  of  the  night-bird,  relieved 
only  by  the  deep  base  of  that  single  note,  which  he  ut 
tered  as  he  plunged  from  his  lofty  hight  into  a  lower 


THOUGHTS   ON    HOME.  11 

region  of  atmosphere — these  are  among  our  recollec 
tions  of  home.  And  they  come  softened  and  sobered 
through  the  medium  of  the  past,  but  without  losing 
their  power  to  touch  the  heart,  and  still  endear  that 
word  home. 

There,  too,  perhaps,  we  saw  a  father  die  ;  having  at 
tained  to  a  patriarchal  age,  he  bowed  himself  on  his 
bed,  saying,  "  Behold  I  die,  but  God  shall  be  with  you," 
and  was  gathered  to  his  people.  ]STor  can  the  memory 
ever  forget  that  mother  in  her  meek  and  quiet  old  age, 
walking  through  many  a  peaceful  year  on  the  verge  of 
heaven,  breathing  its  atmosphere,  inhaling  its  fragrance, 
reflecting  its  light  and  holy  beauty,  till  at  length  she 
left  the  sweet  home  of  earth  for  her  Father's  home  in 
heaven. 

"  So  gently  dies  the  wave  upon  the  shore." 

Home,  too,  is  the  scene  of  the  gay  and  joyous  bridal. 
When  the  lovely  daughter,  affianced  to  the  youth  of 
her  heart,  stands  up  to  take  the  irrevocable  pledge, 
what  an  interesting  moment !  I  saw,  not  long  since, 
such  a  one.  She  stood  unconscious  of  the  blended 
charm  which  innocence  and  beauty  threw  around  her 
face  and  person ;  her  soft,  smooth,  polished  forehead 
was  circled  with  a  wreath  of  flowers ;  her  robe  was  of 
purest  white,  and  in  her  hand  was  held  a  bouquet 
of  variegated  roses.  Beside  her  stood  the  happy  man, 
for  whom  she  was  to  be 

"  A  guardian  angel  o'er  his  life  presiding, 
Doubling  his  pleasures  and  his  cares  dividing." 

As  I  pronounced  the  words  that  made  them  one, 
adding  the  nuptial  benediction,  a  tear  fell  from  the  eye 


12  GLEANINGS   ANP   GROUPINGS. 

of  the  bride  on  the  wreath  in  her  hand !  It  was  a 
tribute  to  "  home,  sweet  home."  Not  that  she  loved 
father  and  mother  less,  but  husband  more.  That  piece 
of  music,  "  The  Bride's  Farewell,"  plunges  deeper  into 
the  fountain  of  emotion  in  the  soul  than  any  other 
combination  of  thought  and  song  to  which  I  ever  list 
ened.  Was  the  bride  ever  found  who  was  equal  to  its 
performance  on  the  day  of  her  espousals — or  rather  in 
the  hour  of  her  departure  from  her  long-loved  home, 
when  the  time  had  arrived  to  bid  farewell  to  father, 
mother,  brother,  and  sister  ?  Perhaps  in  looking  at  the 
picture  of  domestic  life,  as  exhibited  in  such  circum 
stances,  we  should  not  omit  to  notice  some  of  the  least 
prominent  traits  and  coloring,  for  they  never  escape 
the  keen  and  practiced  eye  of  the  true  poet.  Thus 
Rogers,  in  his  graphic  and  natural  poem  of  Human 
Life,  in  which  he  snatches  so  many  graces  "  beyond 
the  reach  of  art,"  does  not,  in  describing  the  wedding 
scene,  forget  the  younger  portion  of  the  family,  even 
the  little  daughter,  so  often  the  gem  and  the  joy  of 
home: 

"  Then  are  they  blest  indeed,  and  swift  the  hours, 
Till  her  young  sisters  wreathe  her  hair  in  flowers, 
Kindling  her  beauty  ;  while,  unseen,  the  least 
Twitches  her  role,  then  runs  behind  the  rest — 
Known  by  her  laugh,  that  will  not  be  suppressed." 

But  even  this  picture  must  be  shaded.  If  the  cradle 
be  one  of  the  things  of  home,  so  is  the  coffin!  The 
bridal  robe  is,  alas  !  too  often  succeeded  by  the  funeral 
pall.  "  Six  years  ago,"  heard  I  the  minister  of  God 
say  at  the  funeral  of  a  young  and  lovely  member  of  a 
friend's  family,  "  she  who  lies  there  stood  here  to  take 


THINGS   ESSENTIAL   TO   A   HAPPY   HOME.  13 

the  marriage  vows.  She  is  now  the  bride  of  death." 
Striking  thought !  How  short  the  passage  from  the 
home  of  love  and  felicity  to  the  grave !  A  few  years 
since  I  sat  amid  a  domestic  circle  of  father,  mother, 
three  sons,  and  a  daughter.  It  was  the  home  of 
hospitality.  Where  are  they  now  ?  The  solemn  church 
yard  will  tell.  They  have  all  sunk  into  the  long,  dream 
less  repose  of  the  grave.  Silent  are  those  halls  that 
once  echoed  to  the  cheerful  sound  of  their  voices.  They 
have  gone  to  their  "  long  home."  And  we  follow.  In 
the  fine  language  of  Paul,  "  it  becomes  those  who  have 
wives,  to  be  as  though  they  had  none,  and  those  that 
weep,  as  though  they  wept  not,  and  those  that  rejoice, 
as  though  they  rejoiced  not ;" — let  us  add,  and  those 
who  have  a  Twme,  to  be  as  though  they  had  iione,  for 
"  the  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away !" 


II, 
(Essential  ta  a 

THE  first  home  on  earth  was  a  paradise.  It  was  the 
beautiful  creation  of  an  infinitely  wise  God — of  "  Him 
who  is  wonderful  in  counsel,  and  excellent  in  work 
ing."  It  was  a  spot  over  which  the  genius  of  poetry 
lias  shed  its  softest  lustre,  especially  on  the  page  of 
Milton,  whose  conceptions  seem  to  ascend  to  the  very 
borders  of  inspiration  while  he  communes  with  the 
past,  and  gathers  immortality  for  the  future.  In  that 
garden  home  of  the  first  of  our  race  grew 

"  Flowers  of  all  hue.  and  -without  thorn  the  rose." 


GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 


In  that  single  line  of  comprehensive  beauty  lies  a  page 
of  description.  It  may  be  considered  as  embracing  the 
physical,  moral,  and  spiritual  perfection  of  that  holy 
and  blessed  home. 

In  sketching  individual  prerogative  and  character, 
the  same  master  of  human  philosophy,  who  taught  "  in 
numbers,"  says  : 

"  For  in  their  looks  divine 
The  image  of  their  glorious  Maker  shone, 
Truth,  wisdom,  sanctitude  severe  and  pure 
(Severe,  but  in  true  filial  freedom  placed), 
Whence  true  authority  in  men  ;  though  both 
Not  equal,  as  their  sex  not  equal  seemed; 
For  contemplation  he,  and  valor  formed, 
For  softness  she,  and  sweet  attractive  grace  : 
He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him  !" 

This  is  truth  and  nature.  The  sense  of  man  approves 
the  picture.  Angels  beheld  it  with  joy  and  songs  of 
praise.  The  morning  stars  smiled  in  beauty  on  the 
scene  of  domestic  bliss  which  the  fourth  book  of  Para 
dise  Lost  has  placed  beyond  further  description.  If 
imagination  has  thrown  her  warm  coloring  over  the 
scene,  she  has  violated  no  sentiment  of  propriety,  no 
oracle  of  the  sacred  canon.  The  intellect  with  which 
she  was  associated  formed  noble  conceptions  of  the  DO 
MESTIC  CONSTITUTION.  "  HE  for  GOD  only,"  chiefly,  sub 
limely,  devotedly!  There  was  the  chief  end  of  man 
indissolubly  connected  with  the  basis  of  that  constitu 
tion.  In  him  was  vested  the  "  true  authority."  His 
soul  was  formed  for  profound  contemplations.  The  ar 
cana  of  nature  were  to  be  revealed  to  him,  and  he  was 
to  be  the  principal  author  of  progress  from  age  to  ao-e. 
His  mind  was  to  be  the  chief  agent  in  demonstrating 


•THINGS   ESSENTIAL   TO   A   HAPPY   HOME.  15 

the  sublime  laws  impressed  by  the  Creator  on  univer 
sal  matter,  and  to  him  was  destined  to  belong  the  moral 
grandeur  of  those  discoveries,  which  have  often  created 
and  always  illustrated  the  epochs  of  time,  and  changed 
the  face  of  the  world.  How  simple  the  language,  how 
sublime  the  idea,  "  made  in  the  image  of  God !" — in 
his  intellectual  and  spiritual  image. 

This  is  the  patent  of  his  nobility.  A  king  may  reign 
in  the  plenitude  of  his  power  to-day.  To-morrow  he 
may  be  discrowned  and  dethroned,  his  scepter  tossed 
into  the  sea,  his  throne  dashed  to  pieces  in  the  streets, 
his  regal  robes  trampled  in  the  dust,  and  himself  a 
fugitive  from  his  own  dominions.  This  "hath  been, 
and  shall  be." 

But  who  shall  take  the  crown  from  the  monarch  of 
the  family  ?  Who  hath  a  right  to  his  scepter  ?  Who 
shall  dare  usurp  his  prerogatives  ? — who  interfere  with 
that  "  true  authority  ?"  Who  shall  claim  that  "  truth, 
wisdom,  sanctitude  severe  and  pure,"  which  God  has 
assigned  to  him  ?  Not  one. 

Here,  then,  are  the  attributes  and  prerogatives  of  the 
father  of  the  family,  and  hence  his  weighty  OBLIGA 
TIONS.  In  their  nature  they  are  untransferable,  as  much 
so  as  any  other  moral  obligation.  He  might  as  well 
attempt  to  transfer  the  duty  of  protection  or  of  provi 
sion  to  another  arm,  as  that  of  government  and  in 
struction.  Many  pleasant  things  are  said  and  sung 
about  the  tenderness  of  a  mother's  love,  and  the  soft 
and  persuasive  tones  of  her  voice,  as  the  most  potent  of 
all  influences  for  the  development  of  filial  love  and 
duty,  and  I  would  not  speak  lightly  of  these  elemental 
contributions  to  the  beauty  or  the  comfort  of  our  mor- 


16  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

tal  existence,  but  I  do  not  find  that  God  has  conferred 
any  exclusive  prerogative  on  the  mother,  or  attached 
to  her  any  special  obligation.  If  there  be  any  pre 
ponderance  of  duty,  it  seems  to  inhere  in  the  father. 
Thus  God  says,  not  of  Sarah,  but  of  Abraham,  "  J  know 
him,  that  Tie  will  command  his  children  and  household 
after  him,  and  they  shall  keep  the  way  of  the  Lord." 
So  the  avenging  judgments  of  heaven  fell  on  the  house 
of  Eli,  because  "  his  sons  made  themselves  vile,  and  lie 
restrained  them  not."  In  the  one  case  parental  obliga 
tion  was  discharged,  in  the  other  it  was  neglected  by 
the  father,  and  these  fathers  were  accordingly  com 
mended  or  condemned.  The  true  and  primeval  author 
ity  is  with  the  man,  who  was  "  made  for  God,"  while 
the  woman  was  made  for  him,  "  forasmuch  as  he  is  the 
image  and  glory  of  God,  but  the  woman  is  the  glory 
of  the  man."  "  Neither  was  the  man  created  for  the 
woman,  but  the  woman  for  the  man."  Not  that  he 
should  lord  it  over  her  with  a  despotism  as  despicable 
as  the  soul  that  is  insensible  to  the  delicacy  of  the  ten 
der  sex ;  for  as  good  old  Matthew  Henry  says,  she  was 
taken  "  not  out  of  his  head  to  top  him,  not  out  of  his 
feet  to  be  trampled  on  by  him,  but  out  of  his  side  to  be 
equal  with  him,  under  his  arm  to  be  protected,  and 
near  his  heart  to  be  beloved."  If  this  be  a  little  fanci 
ful,  it  is  quite  beautiful,  and  not  a  little  instructive. 

It  does  not  impair  or  impugn  the  authority  of  him, 
who  is  the  "  head  of  the  wife,  even  as  Christ  is  the  head 
of  the  Church."  A  mighty  argument  in  a  short  phrase. 
Let  the  husband  and  father  study  that  phrase.  It  is 
vital  with  the  seeds  of  apt  and  holy  instruction.  Let 
him  open  his  soul  to  the  force  of  that  argument.  It  will 


THINGS    ESSENTIAL   TO    A    HAPPY    HOME.  17 

teach  him  to  construe  his  marital  and  paternal  author 
ity  as  most  effectually  to  fulfill  the  ends  of  the  family 
constitution.  Here  we  have,  not  the  beau  ideal  of  the 
heavenly  art,  but  the  living  model,  the  actual  standard 
of  perfection,  exalted  far  above  all  principalities  and 
powers,  yet  invested  with  humanity,  that  the  partakers 
of  that  nature  may  neither  be  overpowered  nor  repelled 
in  their  efforts  to  be  conformed  to  the  divine  image. 
Christ  our  exemplar ! 

The  husband  and  father,  then,  is  bound  by  an  inevi 
table  obligation  to  vindicate  his  authority  before  the 
family,  1.  JBy  acquainting  himself  with  all  the  duties 
of  that  sacred  relation.  If  a  man,  appointed  to  an 
office  in  the  State,  neglects  to  acquaint  himself  with 
the  duties  of  that  office,  and  the  State  thereby  suffers 
injury,  he  encounters  the  public  reprobation,  and  lays 
himself  open  to  impeachment.  Now  the  family  con 
stitution  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  the  forms  of  civil 
and  Christian  society.  To  be  willingly  ignorant,  then, 
of  the  right  mode  of  administering  it,  is  to  incur  a  high 
degree  of  criminality. 

2.  The  paternal  authority  is  to  be  perpetuated  lyy  the 
maintenance  of  a  wholesome  exam/pie.    The  example  of 
the  father  is  the  mold  into  which  the  character  of  the 
son  will  naturally  be  delivered.     How  exact  should  it 
be !     We  should  be  content  with  nothing  short  of  that 
resolution,  "  I  will  walk  within  my  house  with  a  per 
fect  heart." 

3.  Authority  should  le  tempered  with  tenderness,  "but 
not  annihilated  l>y  indulgence.     "  As  a  father  pitieth 
his  children."     By  that  tender  trait  is  the  disposition 
of  God  himself  illustrated.     It  may  and  ought  to  exist 


18  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

even  in  the  bosom  of  sterner  mold.  "  And  ye,  fathers, 
provoke  not  your  children  to  wrath,  but  bring  them  up 
in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord."  The  cares 
and  vexations  incident  to  the  pursuits  of  men  too  often 
produce  an  irritable  state  of  mind,  that  disqualifies 
them  from  rightly  discharging  parental  duty.  How 
can  these  tender  plants  withstand  the  storm  of  passion 
that  sometimes  bursts  on  their  heads?  "Fathers, 
provoke  not  your  children,  lest  they  be  discouraged." 
Correct  them,  but  not  in  anger. 

4.  The  best  instruction  is  the  best  government.     Hap 
py  is  he  who  is  accustomed  to  say,  as  he  gathers  round 
him  the  dear  ones  who  constitute  the  home  circle : 
"  Hear,  ye  children,  the  instruction  of  a  father,  and  at 
tend  to  know  understanding — for  I  was  my  father's 
son,  tender  and  only  beloved  in  the  sight  of  my  mo 
ther.    He  TAUGHT  me  also" — He  did  not  shift  the  re 
sponsibility  from  himself  to  my  mother,  but  was  will 
ing  to  share  it  with  her.    Fathers,  go  and  do  like 
wise. 

5.  One  of  the  noblest  auxiliaries  of  parental  duty  is 
PRAYER.     Even  for  poor  Ishmael  the  father  of  the 
faithful  prayed.     "  Oh  that  Ishmael  might  live  before 
thee  !"    How  then  did  he  wrestle  for  Isaac  before  and 
after  his  birth :  how  when,  in  view  of  the  approaching 
sacrifice  on  Moriah,  he  sought  the  solitude  of  the  for 
est,  and,  taking  the  lad  with  him,  fervently  prayed  to 
God !    How  did  Jacob  wrestle  with  the  angel  of  the 
covenant  for  his  dear  children  in  the  hour  of  appre 
hended  danger,  even  until  the  breaking  of  the  day. 
Oh,  how  some  of  our  pious  and  devoted  fathers  in  the 
ministry  and  in  the  churches  have  agonized  at  the 


THE   EVERLASTING   HOME.  19 

eternal  throne,  until  salvation  was  poured  upon  their 
families ! 

6.  Authority  should  be  so  exercised  as  to  secure  Jia- 
bitual  obedience.  Then  will  obedience  to  God  be  more 
easily  rendered.  In  proportion  to  the  deeper  deference 
naturally  paid  by  children  to  the  authority  of  a  father, 
is  the  paternal  responsibility  increased.  Were  it  prop 
er,  I  could  refer  to  living  instances  of  distinguished 
parental  success  in  bringing  up  children  for  God.  Hap 
py  that  missionary  father,  whose  sons  in  beautiful  suc 
cession  are  entering  the  ministry,  and  even  the  mis 
sionary  field ! 


Ill, 
QL\)t  everlasting 

I  HAVE  written  of  the  home  of  the  living  and  of  the 
dead.  But  there  is  still  another — the  everlasting  home. 
The  former  will  cease  to  be.  This  never.  It  has  en 
gaged  the  thoughts  of  the  great  and  the  good  in  past 
times.  Let  it  not  be  neglected  by  us.  Not  revelation 
only,  but  the  course  of  nature  teaches  us,  that  we  have 
"  here  no  continuing  city,  but  we  seek  one  to  come." 
"We  now  dwell  in  tents  or  tabernacles.  True,  men  build 
houses  to  last  long.  They,  however,  do  not  expect  to 
continue  so  long,  much  less  to  survive  them.  But  "  the 
house  not  made  with  hands"  ! — that  is  the  real  and  per 
manent  house.  Pause,  ye  busy  men  in  the  great  marts 
of  trade  and  commerce,  and  spend  a  few  minutes  with 


20  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

me.  Which  way  ?  Most  of  you  probably  have  a  home, 
which  you  love.  So  is  it  generally,  my  readers.  It  is 
said  that  in  every  thing  there  is  a  lesson.  The  world, 
too,  is  full  of  analogies.  Types  and  symbols  have  been 
a  favorite  mode  of  teaching  with  Infinite  Wisdom.  Is 
there  not  something  typical  in  Home?  What  are  its 
visible  realities  ? 

The  FATHER  is  the  most  conspicuous  object  there.  A 
cluster  of  little  dependent  beings  surrounds  him.  His 
smile  lights  up  their  joy.  His  frown  spreads  fear  over 
the  circle.  This  is  a  type.  The  best  of  all  fathers  pre 
sides  in  the  everlasting  home.  His  smile  awakens  the 
rapture  of  sainted  bosoms.  His  frown — never  does  the 
shadow  of  a  shade  pass  over  that  countenance. 

Happy  is  the  family  that  is  blessed  with  a  kind  ELDER 
BROTHER.  In  his  manly  affection  and  cordial  protection 
they  of  the  household  confide.  Even  his  mother  leans 
on  him,  who  was  cradled  on  her  bosom.  But  in  that 
exalted  home  of  redeemed  spirits  there  is  an  ELDER 
BROTHER  who  is  not  ashamed  to  call  the  meanest  of  the 
sanctified  "his  brethren."  That  same  eye  that  wept 
over  the  miseries  of  humanity  watches  over  the  sleeping 
dust  of  every  member  of  the  family,  and  shall  see  all 
safely  arriving  at  length  at  their  eternal  home. 

An  inward  view  of  home  shows  a  circle  of  CHILDREN 
of  different  ages  and  capacities,  all  the  objects  of  paren 
tal  love.  If  there  is  a  weak  and  suffering  one  there,  so 
much  the  more  is  it  loved ;  so  much  the  more  does  it 
evoke  the  mysterious  tenderness  of  parental  affection. 
Look  into  heaven,  the  final,  everlasting  home  of  the 
children  of  God.  Are  they  not  all  the  children  of  one 
Father  ?  The  first-born  Son  and  Elder  Brother  died  in 


THE   EVERLASTING   HOME.  21 

circumstances  of  peculiar  agony  to  make  that  home  a 
happy  one  to  all  the  rest  of  the  family.  How  happy 
must  it  be !  Because  it  is  so  holy. 

We  see  SERVANTS  within  the  precincts  of  home.  It  is 
honorable  to  serve  well.  Christ  called  himself  the  ser 
vant  of  men.  Who  will  be  the  servant  in  "  the  house 
not  made  with  hands"  ?  ANGELS — in  the  beautiful  liv 
ery  of  holiness.  "What  radiant  splendors  will  hold  the 
ravished  eyes  of  all  that  shall  be  permitted  to  behold 
that  scene !  "  Are  they  not  ministering  servants,  sent 
forth  to  minister  to  them  who  shall  be  heirs  of  salva 
tion"? 

There  are  some  families  in  which  you  will  hear  MUSIC 
from  all  the  members.  There  sits  the  daughter,  just 
budding  into  womanhood,  gracefully  touching  the  keys 
of  the  piano.  Her  brother  discourses  sweet  music  on 
the  rich-toned  flute.  Another  brother  is  skilled  on  an 
other  instrument.  A  sister  lends  the  enchanting  notes 
of  her  treble  voice.  Another  in  counter.  A  second 
brother  sustains  the  performance  by  a  voice  of  deep- 
toned  base.  "What  an  addition  to  the  charm  of  home  is 
all  this !  That  family  need  not  wander  abroad  for 
sources  of  true  happiness.  But  what  is  this  to  the 
music  of  heaveu — of  the  "family  named  in  heaven" — 
where  all  will  sing,  and  it  will  be  the  music  of  the 
heart !  Read  John's  descriptions  of  these  'heavenly 
scenes  and  sounds  in  the  book  of  Revelation,  ch.  xiv. 
and  xix. 

Again,  contemplate  the  FURNITURE,  which  is  an  ap 
pendage  of  home.  In  how  costly  a  manner  are  some 
houses  furnished!  But  that  rnay  be  an  evidence  of 
pride  or  vanity.  Not  so  in  that  other  mansion.  That 


. 
22  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

"pavement  of  sapphire" — those  "walls  of  jasper" — 
those  "  precious  stones" — it  is  the  effort  of  language  to 
express  that  which  is  inexpressible.  Then  what  a  table 
will  be  spread  there !  It  is  called  "  the  marriage  of  the 
Lamb."  Again  are  the  capabilities  of  language  tasked 
in  the  description,  until  they  stagger  under  the  burden. 
Kev.  xix.  6,  7. 

Have  you  had  death  in  your  family  ?  Has  the  shad 
ow  of  the  grim  messenger  darkened  your  doors  ?  His 
presence  is  unknown  in  the  everlasting  home.  Has  the 
disobedience  of  a  child  imbittered  the  domestic  cup  ? 
All  will  be  obedient  there.  Has  the  rod  of  affliction 
rested  upon  your  little  circle  ?  It  is  a  stranger  in  the 
house  of  the  blessed.  Is  there  a  short  passage  from  the 
fireside  to  the  grave  ?  There  is  no  such  passage  from 
the  gate  of  heaven.  Are  there  long  absences  of  your 
loved  ones  here?  They  shall  go  no  more  out  there. 
"Whereas,  the  pious  family  on  earth  only  worshiped 
morning  and  evening,  there  they  shall  never  cease  their 
worship  and  their  praise.  Time  will  have  expired. 
The  life  of  eternity  will  commence.  Then  shall  we 
begin  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  word  HOME. 


MOTHER,    DEAK   MOTHEK. 


IV, 
fttolljer, 


A  HOME  and  a  mother,  such  as  are  contemplated  in 
the  constitution  of  God,  are  among  our  greatest  earthly 
blessings,  not  to  say  important  necessities.  Of  this 
truth,  they  who  have  enjoyed  the  double  blessing  need 
no  demonstration.  There  are,  indeed,  orphans  in  the 
world  —  alas,  many  !  and  there  are  wanderers.  There 
are  those  who  have  a  home  without  a  mother,  and  those 
who  have  a  mother  without  a  home  ;  and,  strange  to  say, 
there  are  those  who  have  both  homes  and  a  mother, 
without  having  either  in  any  becoming  sense  of  the 
terms.  Of  this  class  was  a  very  conspicuous  poet,  the 
light  of  whose  genius  shed  its  first  extraordinary  bright 
ness  on  the  opening  years  of  this  our  eventful  century, 
and  who  to  the  artificial  eminence  of  noble  birth  super- 
added  the  higher  dignity  and  honor  of  great  intellect 
ual  powers,  the  immediate  stamp  of  God  on  the  soul 
of  man.  Before  that  signet  we  always  bow  with  pecu 
liar  deference.  I  scarcely  need  to  mention  the  name 
of  BTEON,  that  child  of  genius  and  of  song,  that  para 
dox  of  humanity,  in  whose  brief  life  is  embraced  an 
age  of  instruction.  The  Muses  and  the  Graces  might 
have  gathered  round  his  cradle,  and  exulted  at  his 
birth,  but  the  spirit  of  heaven-born  piety  was  not  there. 
No  maternal  prayer  shed  its  benign,  its  consecrating 
influence  over  his  helpless  infancy.  That  gentle,  effect 
ual  government,  which  springs  from  the  firmness  and 
earnestness  of  a  sanctified  maternal  heart,  was  never 


• 

24:  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

administered  to  his  opening  faculties.  Having  been 
once  angrily  reprimanded  by  his  mother  for  soiling  a 
new  frock  in  which  he  had  just  been  dressed,  he  flew 
into  one  of  his  "  silent  rages,"  seized  the  frock  with 
both  his  hands,  rent  it  from  top  to  bottom,  and  stood  in 
sullen  silence,  setting  at  defiance  his  mother  and  her 
wrath.  That  was  the  time  for  the  solemn,  sovereign, 
decisive  exercise  of  that  parental  government  even  unto 
the  severity  of  the  wholesome  rod,  which  God  has  es 
tablished,  and  guarded  with  suitable  sanctions  ;  but  it 
was  fatally  withheld,  or  rashly  and  capriciously,  nay, 
violently  administered,  as  when,  at  a  subsequent  period 
of  his  unblest  childhood,  "  pokers  and  tongs  were  the 
missiles  which  Mrs.  Byron  preferred,  and  which  she 
more  than  once  sent  resounding  after  her  fugitive  son. 
In  the  present  instance,  he  was  just  in  time  to  avoid  a 
blow  aimed  at  him  with  the  former  of  these  weapons, 
and  to  make  a  hasty  eseape  to  the  house  of  a  friend  in 
the  neighborhood!"*  He  fled  from  the  fury  of  his 
mother,  and  took  refuge  in  the  haunts  of  London  at  the 
perilous  age  of  eighteen.  Thence  writing  to  a  friend, 
he  calls  her  "  my  amiable  Alecto  !"  A  dreary  morning, 
indeed,  to  his  troubled  life.  An  only  son,  the  only  heir 
of  his  house,  in  after  years,  when  writing  to  his  moth 
er,  he  addressed  her  "  Dear  Madam."  Cold  and  con 
strained  indeed  was  the  hand  that  wrote,  like  the  heart 
that  dictated  that  compellation.  Yet  when  adversity 
had,  in  some  measure,  softened  the  asperity  of  his  tem 
per,  and  the  talismanic  power  of  distance  and  exile  in 
a  foreign  land  had  created  a  longing  even  for  his  home, 
he  rises  to  the  expression,  "  Dear  Mother,"  as  if  the 

*  Moore'B  Life. 


MOTIIEK,    DEAK   MOTHER.  25 

filial  principle  would  assert  its  authority,  and  claim  the 
right  of  exercising  itself  on  its  natural  object.  And 
when  the  deeper  influence  of  the  grave  came  upon  his 
proud  and  sullen  spirit,  it  wrought  a  still  further  tri 
umph  over  the  prejudices  of  his  childhood  and  the 
bitterness  of  his  misanthropy.  "  My  poor  mother  died 
yesterday,"  writes  he  to  a  friend,  "  and  I  am  on  my 
way  from  town  to  attend  her  to  the  family  vault.  I 
heard  one  day  of  her  illness,  and  next  of  her  death. 
*  *  I  now  feel  the  truth  of  Mr.  Gray's  observation, 
that  we  can  only  have  one  mother.  Peace  be  with 
her."  Ah !  had  she  been  a  pious,  praying,  teaching 
mother,  how  she  would  have  shaped  that  splendid 
mind  to  do  a  noble  service  to  humanity,  and  to  bring 
honor  and  glory  to  its  bountiful  Creator !  How  mourn 
ful  that  such  exalted  gifts  should  have  been  so  pros 
tituted  ;  that  the  genius  which  could  ascend  to  such 
heights  of  poetic  grandeur,  and  which  could  so  sound 
the  crystal  depths  of  beauty,  and  explore  the  fountains 
of  imaginative  thought,  should  have  been,  not  only 
"  unconsecrate  to  God,"  but  desecrated  to  the  service 
of  Satan !  Byron  had  no  home ;  or  if  the  name  of 
one,  it  was  without  its  endearing  sanctities,  without  its 
enduring  felicities.  "To  be  happy  at  home,"  says 
Johnson,  "  is  the  ultimate  result  of  all  ambition,  the 
end  to  which  every  enterprise  and  labor  tends."  If 
this  be  a  little  too  generic  in  its  terms,  it  has  an  ex 
tensive  application. 

2 


26  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 


V, 
3te  JDiftmnt 

BEAUTIFUL  constitution  !  How  manifestly  marked  by 
the  Divine  impress  !  "  GOD  setteth  the  solitary  in 
families."  Atheism  would  break  up  the  happy  organi 
zation.  Religion  approves  and  sanctifies  it.  The  ori 
ginal  home  of  the  family  was  PARADISE.  Holiness 
breathed  its  harmony  over  the  scene.  The  sun  shone 
for  a  brief  space  over  a  pure  and  guiltless  pair.  Not 
even  the  apostasy  could  destroy  the  immortal  arrange 
ment  of  the  infinitely  wise  and  benevolent  God,  or  ex 
tinguish  the  sacred  flame  of  domestic  affection.  It  sur 
vives  the  ruins  of  the  fall.  It  kindles  into  a  more  in 
tense  lustre  at  the  very  gates  of  the  grave.  Behold  the 
grief  of  those  affectionate  children,  whose  MOTHEK  is 
consigned  to  the  tomb.  This  precious  heritage  of  man 
—  the  family  —  is  even  enriched  and  ennobled  by  an 
influence  from  the  cross  of  Him  in  whom  "all  the 
families  of  the  earth  are  blessed."  What,  then,  are 
some  of  the  aspects  of  interest  and  beauty  in  which 
this  constitution  of  God  may  be  contemplated  ? 

We  may  view  it  as  a  little  EMPIRE,  the  sovereignty 
of  which  is  vested  in  the  Father,  and  is  derived  from 
the  fountain  of  all  authority.  It  is  indeed  absolute,  but 
lest  the  bosom  of  its  possessor  should  grow  rigid  with 
the  spirit  of  tyranny,  paternal  affection  is  planted  there, 
to  exert  its  benignant  influence  with  all  the  steadiness 


THE   FAMILY ITS    DIFFERENT   ASPECTS.  27 

of  an  operative  law,  and  keep  in  check  the  severer  ten 
dencies  of  the  sterner  sex.  And  lest  this  should  not 
suffice,  a  softer  bosom  is  at  hand,  ever  ready  to  shed  its 
gentle  influence  upon  the  authoritative  government 
which  it  acknowledges.  Responsibility  being  the  in 
separable  concomitant  of  authority  and  power,  and 
these  being  in  an  important  sense  absolute,  how  great, 
how  complete  that  responsibility  which  presses  upon 
the  head  of  this  government !  Even  when  its  weight 
is  divided,  how  heavily  it  rests  upon  conscientious 
parents !  How  much  more  upon  the  widowed  mother, 
whom  death  has  bereaved  of  the  strong  arm  on  which 
she  leaned  for  support,  and  the  warm  heart  that  beat  re 
sponsive  to  her  every  affection !  To  this  divinely  consti 
tuted  authority,  unreserved  obedience  becomes  a  matter 
of  filial  obligation,  that  the  ends  of  the  family  govern 
ment  may  be  answered.  And  that  the  obedience  may 
be  made  easy,  whether  considered  as  exacted  by  the 
parent,  or  rendered  by  the  child,  the  earliest  years  are 
appropriated  to  the  formation  of  the  habit ;  and  how 
much  of  that  precious,  golden  season  is  committed  to 
the  care  and  culture  of  the  mother !  Then  have  the 
statesmen,  the  warriors,  the  philosophers,  or  the  divines 
been  created.  "  The  child  is  father  to  the  man."  Even 
at  that  early  period  have  the  destinies  of  nations  been 
shaped  and  determined  within  the  limits  of  this  little 
empire,  of  which  thou,  Mother,  art  the  queen  regnant. 
Hence, 

The  family  is  a  NTJKSEKY.  "  Christian  families  are 
the  nurseries  of  the  Church  on  earth,  as  the  Church  is 
the  nursery  of  the  family  in  heaven."  The  idea  is  de 
rived  from  a  material  process  in  nature,  to  which  both 


28  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

animals  and  plants  are  subjected.  When  we  speak 
of  nourishing,  protecting,  bringing  to  maturity  the 
elements  of  our  moral  existence,  the  allusions  are  fig 
urative,  but  perfectly  intelligible,  as  well  as  impressive. 
The  nursery,  though  most  retired  from  public  observa 
tion,  is  the  most  important  place  we  occupy.  It  is  the 
birthplace  of  the  body  and  the  mind.  There,  in  the 
retirement  of  home,  the  intellectual  powers  are  con 
structed.  A  train  of  associations  commences,  which 
extends  itself  through  the  whole  of  our  future  exist 
ence.  Habitudes  are  formed,  which  mold  the  char 
acter  of  the  future  man.  Impressions  are  engraven 
upon  the  ductile  mind,  which  the  tide  of  time  will 
never  obliterate.  Then  and  there  the  seeds  are  sown 
which  produce  the  harvest  of  life.  Whether  that  har 
vest  be  of  wheat  or  tares,  holy  angels  wait  and  watch 
to  behold!  Mental  philosophers  have  held  that  our 
character  is  formed  and  fixed  ere  our  sixth  year  has 
expired.  The  opinion  is  of  sufficient  importance  to 
arrest  attention ;  for  even  if  not  strictly  and  universally 
true,  it  indicates  an  important  truth.  For  the  illustra 
tion  of  its  truth,  we  might  advert  to  individual  exam 
ples.  The  history  of  the  men  of  genius  and  power 
abounds  with  them.  The  stamp  was  received  in  the 
nursery.  If  we  enter  the  walks  of  poetry,  that  depart 
ment  of  human  genius  which  exercises  so  potent  an 
influence  over  the  moral  sensibilities,  and  through  them 
over  the  actions  of  mankind,  we  shall  find  records  of 
maternal  influence  brilliant  and  suggestive,  striking 
and  instructive.  COWPER,  for  instance,  with  his  own 
peculiar  skill,  embalms  his  recollections  of  the  sanctity 
of  home  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  a  fragrant  impression 


THE   FAMILY ITS  DIFFERENT  ASPECTS.  29 

on  the  mind  that  feels  the  smallest  congeniality  with 
"  home-born  delights." 

"  My  mother !  when  I  learned  that  thou  wert  dead, 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed  ?" 

Those  were  tears  that  flowed  from  the  inmost  fountains 
of  the  soul.  Each  one  might  represent  a  pearl  of  in 
estimable  value,  and  were  they  strung  together,  might 
convey  some  faint  idea  of  the  worth  of  such  maternal 
affection,  as  blessed  the  tender  boyhood  of  the  poet  of 
the  HEAKT  and  the  HOME,  whose  strains  so  sweetly  har 
monize  with  the  associations  of  domestic  life,  and  spread 
the  charms  of  a  pure  and  beautiful  poesy  over  all  its 
interior  scenery.  How  different  was  Byron's  estimate 
of  his  mother !  To  him  the  reminiscences  of  the  nur 
sery  seem  to  have  been  painful  and  oppressive.  Hear 
him  on  the  death  of  his  mother :  "  Some  curse  hangs 
over  me  and  mine.  My  mother  lies  a  corpse  in  this 
house.  One  of  my  best  friends  is  drowned  in  a  ditch. 
What  can  I  say,  or  think,  or  do?"  Nothing,  poor 
comfortless  child  of  infidelity  and  despair,  for 

"  No  mother's  tender  care 
Shielded  your  infant  innocence  with  prayer." 

His  splendid  genius,  prolific  on  so  many  other  themes, 
never  deigned  a  filial  tribute  to  the  remembrances  of 
home.  A  few  occasional  scornful  words  of  prose  suf 
fice  to  express  his  feelings  toward  her,  who,  in  a  par 
oxysm  of  passion,  could  hurl  the  tongs  or  the  stool  at  her 
erring  son.  Hence  the  wretchedness  of  his  own  home, 
from  which,  reversing  the  order  of  those  who  seek 
true  happiness,  he  fled,  to  become  a  wanderer  and  an 
adventurer.  While  genius,  talent,  taste,  and  superior 


30  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

intellectual  beauty  were  developed  in  him,  the  moral 
sense,  the  spirit  of  veneration,  was  sadly  deficient.  His 
pilgrimage  through  life  was  like  one  of  his  own  dark 
and  troubled  dreams.  Constrained  by  his  remorseful 
feelings,  he  would  sometimes  resort  to  confession  for 
relief,  though  it  were  confession  without  repentance. 

"  The  thorns  which  I  have  reaped  are  of  the  tree 
I  planted ;  they  have  torn  me,  and  I  bleed. 
I  should  have  known  what  fruit  would  spring  from  such  a  seed." 

The  family  is  a  SCHOOL.  The  parent  is  the  natural 
teacher.  A  good,  devoted,  praying  mother  is  the  best 
teacher  in  the  world.  The  parental  appointment  is 
from  God. — Deut.  vi.  7.  The  mother  of  Dwight,  sup 
plying  the  lack  occasioned  by  his  father's  immersion 
in  business,  diligently  instructed  her  little  Timothy  in 
all  right  knowledge,  and  what  a  gift  did  Mary  Dwight 
bestow  on  the  Church  of  God  !  "  Her  school-room  was 
the  nursery,"  says  his  biographer,  and  "  a  great  pro 
portion  of  the  instruction  which  he  received  before  he 
arrived  at  the  age  of  six  years,  was  at  home  with  his 
mother."  Happy  child,  and  happy,  too,  the  child  who 
can  not  only  say :  "  I  was  tender,  and  only  beloved  in 
the  sight  of  my  mother,"  but  can  add :  she  "  taught 
me  also,  and  said  unto  me,  Let  thy  heart  retain  my 
words :  keep  my  commandments  and  live."  Happy 
the  father  who  can  say  to  his  children :  "  Hear,  ye 
children,  the  instruction  of  a  father,  and  attend  to  know 
understanding."  Speak  not  of  wealth,  of  rich  legacies, 
of  ample  estates,  of  abundant  profits.  This  merchan 
dise  is  better  than  that  of  silver  and  gold.  It  is  the 
wealth  of  knowledge,  the  legacy  of  wisdom,  the  inher 
itance  of  truth  and  righteousness.  Oh,  what  prayer 


THE    SABBATH    AND    THE    FAMILY.  31 

and  pains-taking  are  necessary  on  the  part  of  parents 
to  do  that  great  work  of  EDUCATION,  a  work  of  which  K 
may  be  truly  said,  that  its  comprehensiveness  is  seldom 
comprehended  !  Education  entire — of  the  body — the 
mind — the  imagination — the  judgment — the  moral  fac 
ulties — the  principles — the  HEAET,  which  is  the  seat 
and  source  of  all  that  constitutes  the  final  immortality 
of  our  being.  Wide  and  sad  is  the  neglect  of  this 
duty.  How  many  thousands  in  this  land  are  trained 
to  a  career  of  guilt  and  shame !  It  is  by  patient,  re 
peated,  long-continued  strokes  on  the  marble,  that  the 
sculptor  eliminates  at  length  the  beautiful  statue  that 
seems  almost  to  live  and  breathe.  Consummate  art 
and  industry  alone  can  reach  the  point  of  impressive 
excellence.  The  parent  is  the  sculptor  of  souls.  Every 
stroke  is  for  immortality. 


VI, 
Stye  Sabbatl)  aufc  fy 

THAT  was  a  happy  thought  of  one  of  our  great  Ameri 
can  divines  to  apply  to  the  expression,  Laws  of  Nature, 
that  more  scriptural  and  descriptive  expression,  Ordi 
nances  of  Heaven.  Some  of  these  ordinances  are  ap 
plicable  to  the  material,  others  to  the  moral  world. 
Among  the  former  may  be  reckoned  the  laws  of  gravi 
tation  and  ascension  ;  among  the  latter  are  compre 
hended  all  those  laws  or  ordinances  which  relate  to  the 


32  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

moral  being  of  the  intelligent  creatures  of  God.  In  a 
world  composed  of  beings  whose  nature  is  compounded 
of  body  and  spirit,  the  ordinance  of  the  family  constitu 
tion  is  a  necessary  law.  Equally  necessary  to  the  well- 
being  of  man  is  the  ordinance  of  the  SABBATH.  It  was 
"  made  for  man."  Here,  then,  we  have  two  institutions, 
both  necessary  and  beautiful,  having  their  origin  in  the 
bosom  of  God;  their  synchronism  with  Creation  itself; 
their  objects  parallel  through  all  time ;  their  period  the 
end  of  all  things  earthly.  On  each  of  these  ordinances 
is  stamped  the  image  of  divine  wisdom  and  benevo 
lence  ;  admirable  means,  adapted  to  a  worthy  and  glo 
rious  end :  love  endeavoring  to  train  the  soul  for  a 
higher  and  holier  sphere.  In  the  well-ordered,  sancti 
fied  family  of  earth  we  behold  a  type  of  the  "  whole 
family  in  heaven,"  of  which  God  is  the  adored  Father, 
and  all  beatified  saints  the  affectionate  and  adoring 
children — united  together  by  the  golden  bond  of  love, 
and  bound  to  the  mediatorial  throne  by  the  ties  of  an 
imperishable  faith.  In  the  institution  of  the  Sabbath, 
and  especially  in  its  holy  observance,  we  contemplate  a 
current  type  of  the  rest  that  remaineth  for  the  people  of 
God,  and  of  the  holy  employments  of  heaven.  Thus, 
even  the  sweetness,  the  beauty,  the  blessedness  of  the 
celestial  state,  are  drawn  down  into  the  shadowy  vale 
of  our  mortal  existence  by  the  heart  of  faith,  which  loves 
to  antedate  the  triumphs  of  glory,  and  honor  the  pledges 
of  a  covenanting  God  in  advance,  by  opening  the  soul 
to  that  fullness  of  joy  which  springs  from  his  presence. 
The  foundation  of  all  true  happiness,  whether  of  earth 
or  heaven,  is  laid  in  the  knowledge  of  God.  For  as  the 
higher  life  of  the  soul  is  the  main  thing  to  be  sought— 


THE  SABBATH  AND  THE  FAMILY.          33 

the  interior  spiritual  existence  being  the  chief  proposal 
of  heaven  in  its  scheme  for  the  redemption  of  man,  it 
becomes  our  first  duty  to  study  the  Eternal,  to  acquire 
"  that  which  may  be  known  of  God,"  though  Infinity 
has  unfathomable  depths,  not  to  be  sounded  by  our  line. 
"  This  is  life  eternal,  to  know  thee,  the  only  true  God, 
and  Jesus  Christ,  whom  thou  hast  sent."  The  business 
of  a  candidate  for  eternity  is  to  be  "  increasing  in  the 
knowledge  of  God."  Here  he  is  met  by  the  institution 
of  the  Sabbath,  which  shed  its  benignant  light  on  the 
morning  of  creation,  hallowing  Paradise  itself,  aid  in 
spiring  into  the  bosom  of  man  a  certain  gladdening  hope 
of  the  future.  So,  also,  it  meets  every  child  of  mortal 
ity,  in  lands  blessed  with  the  light  of  Christianity,  at 
the  threshold  of  his  existence,  and  oners  to  conduct  him 
to  glory.  This,  indeed,  is  the  blessed  light  which 

'  Streams  from  the  depths  of  ages  oil  mankind." 

What  multitudes  of  the  just  and  holy,  now  radiant  in 
other  spheres,  have  rejoiced  to  walk  in  that  light !  "  I," 
saith  Jehovah,  "  gave  them  my  Sabbaths,  to  be  a  sign 
between  me  and  them,  that  they  might  KNOW  that  I  am 
the  Lord  that  sanctify  them." — Ezek.  xx.  12.  Again,  we 
hear  the  heavenly  injunction,  uttered  with  imposing 
solemnity  :  "HALLOW  my  Sabbaths,  and  they  shall  be, 
a  sign  between  me  and  you,  that  ye  may  KNOW  that  I 
am  the  Lord  your  God."  But  how  could  this  command 
be  obeyed  without  the  kindred  institution  of  the  family, 
which  is  the  constituted  school  of  virtue,  piety,  and  prep 
aration  for  heaven  ?  Little  do  we  appreciate  our  mer 
cies  ;  we,  to  whom  the  Sabbath  is  a  birthright ;  on  whose 
cradled  infancy  it  shed  its  precious,  primal  blessings ; 

2* 


34  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

whose  ears  first  caught  these  soft  accents  from  maternal 
lips,  echoing  the  voice  of  God :  "  Remember  the  Sab 
bath-day  to  keep  it  holy,"  followed  by  that  other  admo 
nition  :  "  Remember  now  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy 
youth."  We  were  thus  watched,  instructed,  prayed  for, 
wept  over,  that  we  might  know  God;  and  knowing, 
love  him  with  all  our  heart,  and  mind,  and  might. 

This  was  in  the  bosom  of  the  family,  and  chiefly  on 
the  Sabbath.  What  tender  recollections  arise  in  the 
mind  of  one  born  to  such  an  inheritance  as  this !  How 
can  w"e  forget  the  authoritative  paternal  injunctions ; 
the  scarcely  less  powerful  example  of  meek-eyed  piety, 
as  expressed  in  maternal  deportment ;  the  morning  de 
votions  ;  the  early  lessons ;  the  sacred  stillness  of  the 
day  diffusing  a  mysterious  charm  over  all ;  then,  at  the 
appointed  hour,  the  church-going  bell  ringing  out  its 
cheerful  tones,  to  call  us  to  the  house  of  God,  or,  per 
chance,  giving  forth  its  solemn  toll  for  the  dead  !*  These 
are  impressive  reminiscences,  linking  the  Sabbath  and 
the  family  in  sweet  and  cordial  union,  while  they  re 
mind  us  of  the  sanctity  of  the  one  and  the  preciousness 
of  the  other.  Who  would  seek  to  impair  the  moral  force 
of  such  a  union  ?  Infidelity  attempted  it,  and  drenched 
a  nation  in  blood.  Atheism  sealed  and  sanctioned  it 
with  a  deeper  curse,  and  the  gates  of  hell  flew  open  to 
receive  its  victims.  Never  was  that  law,  "settled  in 
heaven  forever,"  "Evil  shall  SLAY  the  wicked,"  more 
fearfully  executed  than  on  the  regicides,  the  fratricides, 
and  parricides  of  France,  who,  in  that  long  paroxysm 

*  The  old  church-bell  had  this  inscription : 

"  I  to  the  church  the  living  call, 
And  to  the  grave  I  summon  all." 


THE   SABBATH   AND   THE   FAMILY.  35 

of  voluntary  insanity,  at  the  close  of  the  last  century, 
sought  to  abolish  the  Sabbath,  and  to  divorce  the  very 
rite  of  marriage  itself  from  the  humanity  which  it 
guarded.  "What  a  train  of  woes  unutterable  followed 
that  explosion  of  human  depravity !  The  vibrations  of 
that  tremendous  shock  are  felt  to  this  hour.  "  That  ab 
rogation  of  the  Sabbath,"  says  Chancellor  'Walworth, 
"  was  accompanied  by  a  general  corruption  of  morals, 
and  even  by  the  breaking  up  of  the  conjugal  relation, 
under  a  law  allowing  an  unlimited  divorce,  at  the  mere 
will  of  the  parties  ;  when,  as  the  Abbe  Gregoire  states, 
upward  of  twenty  thousand  divorces  were  registered  in 
the  short  sj>ace  of  eighteen  months,  and  those  in  the 
city  of  Paris  were  nearly  equal  to  the  number  of  mar 
riages." 

Now,  see  the  Pilgrim  Puritans,  keeping  the  Sabbath 
in  the  very  sight  of  the  shore,  on  which  they  would  not 
land  until  the  sacred  hours  were  passed.  And  so  they 
taught  their  families.  And  thus  a  conservative  influ 
ence  acted  and  reacted  between  these  two  institutions, 
consolidating  the  interests  of  society  on  an  impregnable 
basis,  and  opening  the  way  for  the  introduction  of  those 
higher  blessings  which  are  linked  with  the  eternal  des 
tiny  of  the  soul. 

The  Sabbath  and  the  family !  Beautiful  conjunction ! 
Through  these  graciously  instituted  means  the  very 
spirit  of  Heaven  is  conducted  down  to  earth,  and  dif 
fused  through  the  domestic  circle.  The  father  of  the 
family  is  offered  the  pledge  of  one  day  of  rest,  that  he 
may  devote  his  energies  to  training  that  family  for  heav 
en.  The  business  of  the  nation  pauses.  The  doors  of 
the  legislative  halls  are  closed.  The  courts  cease  to  try 


36  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

cases.  The  visible  wheels  of  government  are  arrested. 
Public  offices  are  shut.  Places  of  business  are  deserted. 
Common  law  pronounces  the  Sunday  a  non  dies  as  to 
all  civil  purposes,  thus  confessing  that  it  must  be  en 
tirely  devoted  to  God.  A  weight  of  care  is  at  once 
lifted  off  the  mind  of  him  whom  not  even  a  creditor 
can  then  approach,  except  the  greatest  Creditor  of  all, 
God.  Numerous  facilities  are  presented  for  doing  a 
great  family  work  on  that  spiritual  day,  preparatory  to 
the  union  and  communion  of  the  family  of  the  "  first 
born,"  who  shall  enjoy  the  eternal  Sabbath  in  glory. 
The  children's  secular  studies  are  laid  aside.  The  Bible 
succeeds.  The  feet  of  visitors  are  supposed^not  now  to 
intrude.  (Alas !  for  their  frequent  violations  of  the 
sanctity  of  the  day.)  A  peculiar  and  impressive  still 
ness  pervades  the  house.  It  is  the  QUIETUDE  OF  THE  SAB 
BATH.  It  is  the  highest  consecration  of  a  happy  home. 
Morning  prayers  and  praise  ascend  to  God  from  the  do 
mestic  altar.  Burns,  the  poet,  confesses  to  the  ineradi 
cable  impression  made  on  his  young  heart  by  the  ordi 
nance  of  family  worship.  Its  reminiscences  inspired 
him  to  compose  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  that 
poetry  which  has  given  his  name  sucli  exalted  celeb 
rity.  Family  worship  in  a  cottage  may  be  described 
in  a  single  line : 

"  The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays." 

Oh,  New  England !— land  of  the  rock,  the  stream,  the 
storm ;  of  wooded  hills  and  laughing  valleys ;  of  tower 
ing  mountains  and  crystal  lakes,  mirroring  in  their 
soft  bosoms  those  beauties  that  surround  them  in  rich 
profusion !— keep  thy  Sabbaths,  love  them,  cherish 


THE  SABBATH   AND   THE   FAMILY.  37 

them,  and  give  them,  along  with  the  numerous  off 
shoots  of  thy  prolific  family  tree,  to  the  emigrant  hosts 
that  are  peopling  that  broad  land  toward  the  setting 
sun.  And  when  he  dips  his  disk  on  the  first  day  of  the 
week  in  the  deep  waters  of  the  Pacific,  let  his  retiring 
rays  be  to  them  the  parting  sign  of  a  well-spent  Sab 
bath.  The  family  in  its  purity,  and  the  Sabbath  in  its 
sanctity,  shall,  under  the  benediction  of  the  Holy  Para 
clete,  be  the  salvation  of  the  land.  "We  need  more  con 
scientious  fathers,  and  wives  that  will  be  as  guardian 
angels  over  their  husbands,  to  keep  them  in  the  right 
way.  A  conductor  informed  his  wife  that  he  had  been 
requested  to  go  with  the  rail-cars  on  Sunday.  She  re 
plied  :  "  I  take  it  for  granted  you  do  not  intend  to  go." 
"  If  not,"  he  rejoined,  "  I  may  lose  my  place.  I  have 
no  other  employment ;  the  times  are  hard,  and  I  have 
a  family  to  support."  His  wife  said :  "  I  know  it ;  but 
I  hope  you  will  not  forget,  that  if  a  man  cannot  sup 
port  a  family  ~by  keeping  the  Sabbath,  he  certainly  can 
not  support  tliem  Tjy  breaking  it"  Nobly  said,  thou 
woman  of  faith  and  courage !  "  I  think  so  myself,"  re 
plied  her  husband,  carried  away  by  the  fervor  of  his 
wife :  "  that  was  what  I  wanted,  to  see  whether  we  think 
alike."  He  informed  his  employer  that  he  should  be 
sorry  to  lose  his  situation,  but  that  he  could  not  go  with 
the  mail  on  the  Sabbath ;  that  he  must  attend  public 
worship,  and  go  with  his  children  to  the  Sabbath-school. 
This  was  his  firm  determination.  The  consequences  he 
left  with  God.  The  result  was,  so  honest  and  conscien 
tious  a  man  was  retained,  and  he  rose  to  a  higher  pros 
perity  than  would  have  accompanied  the  desecration 
of  the  Sabbath. 


38  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

A  young  man,  an  acquaintance  of  the  writer,  was 
offered  a  handsome  situation  in  a  business  house  in  New 
Orleans,  if  he  would  do  Sabbath  work.  He  declined, 
though  without  employment.  A  merchant  hearing  of 
the  circumstance,  said :  "  That  is  the  man  for  me,"  and 
employed  him  at  higher  wages. 

Two  of  the  first  lawyers  in  the  country  came  to  a 
friend  of  mine  on  a  Saturday,  and  said :  "  We  want  you 
to  print  these  briefs,  so  that  we  can  have  them  on  Mon 
day  morning."  "  I  cannot  do  it,  gentlemen."  "  Why  ?" 
"  Because,"  he  replied,  "  it  would  require  Sunday  work, 
and  that  I  never  allow  to  be  done  in  my  establishment." 
"  But,"  said  the  advocates  of  the  law,  "  it  is  a  case  of 
necessity,  and  if  you  will  not  do  it,  we  must  look  else 
where."  "  Yery  well,  gentlemen,"  he  replied,  "  that  is 
your  own  responsibility ;  but  you  must  excuse  me  from 
doing  your  work  on  the  Sabbath." 

Men  that  are  accustomed  to  implicit  deference  can 
not  well  bear  opposition  to  their  opinions  and  designs, 
and  they  retired  somewhat  irritated.  But  they  ever 
afterward  gave  him  their  custom.  Such  is  the  secret 
respect  inspired  by  a  resolute  adherence  to  principle. 
From  the  State  of  New  York  a  gentleman  writes  to  Dr. 
Edwards :  "  About  thirty  years  ago,  in  a  farming  dis 
trict  in  a  neighboring  county,  were  about  ten  families, 
with  good  farms  and  good  prospects.  But  they  fol 
lowed  their  worldly  business  on  the  Sabbath,  and  brought 
up  their  children  in  the  same  way.  A  few  days  ago  an 
aged  relative,  who  has  just  visited  the  district,  and  who, 
thirty  years  ago,  bought  a  farm  there,  on  .which  his 
brother  now  resides,  informed  me  that  all  those  families 
have  gone  to  destruction,  and  many  of  their  descendants 


THE  SABBATH  AND  THE  FAMILY.          39 

are  vagabonds.  His  brother,  a  Sabbath-keeper,  has 
been  greatly  blessed  in  his  estate  and  in  his  family,  all 
his  children  being  pious  and  prosperous."  Oh,  the  in 
estimable  blessing  of  the  Sabbath  to  the  family !  The 
wealth  of  California  is  not  to  be  laid  in  the  balance 
against  it.  The  glory  of  a  nation  is  but  shame  without 
it.  "In  every  Christian  household,"  says  Chalmers, 
"  it  will  be  found  that  the  discipline  of  a  well-ordered 
Sabbath  is  never  forgotten  amid  the  old  lessons  of  a 
Christian  education  ;  and  we  appeal  to  every  individual 
who  now  hears  us,  and  who  carries  in  his  bosom  the  re 
membrance  of  a  father's  worth  and  a  father's  piety,  if, 
on  the  coming  round  of  the  seventh  day,  an  air  of  pecu 
liar  sacredness  did  not  spread  itself  over  that  mansion 
where  he  drew  his  first  breath,  and  was  taught  to  repeat 
his  infant  hymn,  and  lisp  his  infant  prayer." 

"  The  Sabbath  was  made  for  man,"  to  rest  his  body, 
to  invigorate  his  intellect,  to  chasten  his  imagination,  to 
give  a  wholesome  exercise  to  his  memory,  to  bow  his 
will,  to  soften  his  heart ;  in  a  word,  to  sanctify  the  whole 
physical,  intellectual',  and  moral  man,  and  train  the  soul 
into  a  perfect  congeniality  with  celestial  thoughts  and 
glories.  Man  needs  it  as  a  husband,  to  accomplish  the 
design  of  God  in  investing  him  with  that  tender  rela 
tion.  Man  needs  it  as  a  father,  in  order  to  fulfill  the 
solemn  obligations  under  which  he  lies  to  his  children. 
Woman  needs  it  as  a  wife,  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  her 
fidelity  to  her  husband.  Woman  needs  it  as  a  mother, 
that  she  may  avail  herself  of  its  mighty  auxiliary  influ 
ences  in  fitting  her  children  for  usefulness  on  earth,  and 
for  happiness  in  heaven.  Over  all  the  conditions  and 
relations  of  domestic  life,  the  moral  sunlight  of  the  Sab 


4:0  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

bath  sheds  its  hallowed,  halcyon  influence,  to  cheer  our 
hearts,  lighten  our  burdens,  and  elevate  our  anticipa 
tions  to  a  state  of  sinless  perfection  and  endless  frui 
tion.  Man,  as  a  laboring  being,  toiling  for  his  family, 
must  have  the  weekly  rest,  or  break  down  under  the 
burden.  Man,  as  invested  with  earthly  power,  conduct 
ing  the  operations  and  engrossed  with  the  cares  of  gov 
ernment,  needs  the  Sabbath  to  preserve  him  from  be 
coming  a  wreck.  "  Oh,  what  a  blessed  day,"  said  Wil- 
berforce,  "  is  the  Sabbath,  interposed  between  the  waves 
of  worldly  business,  like  the  divine  path  of  the  Israelites 
through  Jordan !  I  can  truly  declare  that  the  Sabbath 
has  been  to  me  INVALUABLE." 

""What  became  of  poor  Komilly,"  he  adds,  "who 
.would  not  consent  to  give  up  Sunday  consultations  ?" 
He  lost  his  reason,  and  terminated  his  own  life.  "  Poor 
Castlereagh,"  observed  the  same  statesman,  "he  was 
certainly  deranged,  the  effect  probably  of  continued 
wear  of  mind.  The  strong  impression  on  my  mind  is, 
that  it  is  the  effect  of  the  non-observance  of  the  Sabbath, 
both  as  to  abstracting  from  politics,  and  from  the  con 
stant  recurring  of  the  same  reflections." 

Not  to  himself  alone  does  the  violation  of  the  law  of 
God  by  a  father  bring  sorrow  and  ruin.  His  family, 
dearer  to  him  than  himself,  must  inevitably  suffer  from 
the  same  cause.  Father,  mother,  do  you  teach  and  train 
your  children  to  keep  the  Sabbath  holy  ?  Alas !  I  seem 
even  now  to  hear  the  sobs  of  a  mother,  lamenting  her 
lost  child,  her  darling  boy,  who,  unrestrained  by  paren 
tal  authority,  had  wandered  away  from  home  on  the 
Sabbath,  and  fallen  into  the  river,  whence  he  was  taken 
a  breathless  corpse,  and  brought  home  to  that  mother. 


MY   FIRST   AFFLICTION.  4:1 

Not  by  the  most  impassioned  kisses  can  that  breath  be 
restored.  That  voice  will  never  again  speak  on  earth. 
Never  will  that  ear  again  hear  the  injunction,  "He- 
member  the  Sabbath-day  to  keep  it  holy."  It  is  sealed 
in  death ! 


VII. 

-first 


I  HAD  heard  often  of  the  grief  of  parents  at  the 
loss  of  children.  I  thought  I  sympathized  with  the 
afflicted,  and  so  I  did  to  a  certain  extent.  I  never 
could  see  a  fond  mother  bend  over  the  dead  form  of 
her  beloved  child  without  desiring  to  weep  with  her  — 
but,  ah  !  with  that  grief  a  stranger  intermeddleth  not. 
To  me  there  was  always  something  affecting  in  the 
deep  and  solemn  dignity  of  death,  and  in  the  speech 
less  eloquence  of  the  grave.  Living  for  the  most  part 
of  my  youth  within  the  sound  of  the  sweet  village  bell 
of  New  England,  nothing  could  be  more  solemn  than 
its  knell,  when  tolling  at  the  occasional  burial  of  an 
inhabitant.  But,  oh,  how  different  the  sound  when  it 
was  for  my  child  !  Little  Mary  had  wound  her  silvery 
cords  round  and  round  my  heart.  From  the  time  of  her 
birth  she  gradually  insinuated  herself  into  the  bosom 
of  parental  affection,  until  no  child  seemed  so  tender, 
so  lovely,  so  triumphant  over  a  father's  heart.  How 
mysterious  the  growth  of  attachment  !  It  is  the  work 
of  God,  that  he  may  fulfill  his  purpose  !  What  a  chaos 


42  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

of  disjecta  membra  would  the  world  present  without  it ! 
So  little  Mary  lived  for  me,  and  I — too  much  for  her. 
At  table  she  sat  next  me — abroad  she  walked  with  me 
• — at  church  she  sat  by  my  side — at  night  she  lay  in 
my  bosom — she  loved  me  with  the  pure  simplicity  of 
a  child,  and  with  the  enthusiastic  ardor  of  a  daughter ; 
yes,  a  daughter.  Let  no  father  impatiently  long  for 
sons.  He  may  please  himself  with  the  ideas  of  bold 
ness  and  masculine  energy,  and  moral  or  martial 
achievement,  but  ten  to  one  he  will  meet  with  little 
else  than  forwardness,  recklessness,  imperiousness,  in 
gratitude.  "  Father,  give  me  the  portion  that  falleth 
to  me,"  was  the  imperious  demand  of  the  profligate 
prodigal,  who  had  been  indulged  from  his  childhood. 
This  case  is  the  representative  of  thousands.  The 
painter  that  drew  that  portrait,  painted  for  all  posterity. 
But  the  daughter — she  clings,  like  the  rose-leaf  around 
the  stem,  to  the  parent  home,  and  the  paternal  heart ; 
she  watches  the  approving  smile,  and  deprecates  the 
slightest  shade  on  the  brow;  she  wanders  not  on  for 
bidden  pleasure-grounds ;  wrings  not  the  hearts  at 
home  with  her  doubtful  midnight  absence ;  wrecks  not 
the  hopes  to  which  early  promise  had  given  birth,  nor 
paralyzes  the  soul  that  dotes  upon  this  its  chosen  ob 
ject.  Wherever  the  son  may  wander  in  search  of  for 
tune  or  pleasure,  there  is  the  daughter,  within  the  sa 
cred  temple  of  home,  the  vestal  virgin  of  its  innermost 
sanctuary,  keeping  alive  the  flame  of  domestic  affec 
tion,  and  blessing  that  existence  of  which  she  is  her 
self  a  part.  As  my  youngest  cherub  threw  her  arms 
around  my  neck,  and  breathed  into  my  ear,  "  Dear 
father,"  could  I  have  imagined  that  very  night  would 


MY   FIRST  AFFLICTION.  43 

witness  her  little  form  struggling  with  a  fierce  disease  ? 
But  so  it  was.  Ah,  father !  fond,  doting  father !  you 
think  that  child  is  yours.  A  few  rosy  summers  have 
passed  over  its  head.  Its  cheeks  are  in  full  bloom — 
her  eye,  gay  with  childhood's  innocent  joys,  looks 
cheerily  and  confidingly  into  your  own  delighted  face 
— her  step  bounds  over  the  garden  path,  and  in  her 
little  hand  she  brings  you  a  bunch  of  flowers.  This  is 
happiness  too  exquisite  for  Death  to  permit.  It  was 
mine.  In  one  month  it  was  mine.  In  the  next  it  was  all 
buried  in  the  depths  of  the  grave  that  opened  to  receive 
the  precious  form  of  my  Mary.  I  then  learned  a  les 
son,  of  which  I  had  not  before  a  suitable  conception, 
that  I  do  not  own  any  thing  in  the  creation  of  God.  I 
had  closed  the  dying  eyes  of  a  beloved  mother — and 
much  I  loved  her — no  child  could  love  more — but  a 
lingering  consumption,  after  detaining  her  a  long  time 
in  view  of  the  promised  land,  at  length  let  her  go  with 
joy  to  take  full  possession.  I  had  buried  a  beloved 
sister,  who,  under  a  similar  course  of  protracted  dis 
cipline,  was  ripened  for  her  heavenly  rest ;  but  this  was 
my  first  affliction. 

Every  parent  understands  me.  Every  father  knows 
I  speak  the  truth.  There  is  not  on  earth  a  tie  so  pecu 
liar,  so  mysterious,  so  inexpressible.  Ten  thousand  in 
finitely  minute  fibers  are  sundered  at  that  bold  stroke 
of  Death.  The  breaking  of  a  million  of  arteries  would 
not  cause  such  a  flow.  The  actual  loss  is  not,  indeed, 
like  that  of  losing  a  conjugal  partner,  but  the  feeling, 
the  emotion,  the  complexity  of  grief,  is  too  intense  to 
be  surpassed.  A  part  of  both  of  yourselves  dies  !  the 
pledge  of  your  affection — the  joy  of  your  soul — the 


44  GLEANINGS  AND   GROUPINGS. 

concentrating  point  of  your  united  love  is  snatched 
away,  and  an  appalling  vacancy  is  created  in  the  soul. 
The  strength  of  a  parent's  love  is  seen  in  its  appro 
priate  evidence,  while  life  lasts — in  the  anxious  look — 
the  eager  inquiry — the  restlessness  of  the  heart — the 
assiduity  of  attention — the  sleepless  vigilance.  Oh, 
how  the  Mother  watched  over  that  child!  Every 
power,  faculty,  and  appetite  of  the  system  seemed  to 
pay  its  tribute  to  the  impending  danger.  When  nature 
was  exhausted,  the  mother  would  lie  on  the  bed  in  a 
vain  effort  to  sleep ;  her  soft  and  suppressed  groans  re 
echoing  through  the  silence  of  midnight  the  afflicting 
groans  of  the  little  sufferer.  To  see  a  child,  wrhose 
powers  of  moral  agency  have  not  yet  been  developed,  or 
who  can  have  no  suitable  sense  of  responsibility,  writh 
ing  under  the  scourge  of  a  relentless  disease — looking  at 
you  most  imploringly  for  that  help  which  you  can  no 
more  give  than  create  a  world — this  is  as  humiliating 
as  it  is  heart-rending — you  are  the  cause  of  those  suffer 
ings — you  could  entail,  but  you  cannot  relieve.  You 
could  be  the  means  of  a  sinful,  painful  existence,  but 
coiild  not  impart  holiness  to  that  existence. 

In  the  case  of  my  sweet  Mary,  hope  clung  to  the  last 
relic  of  probability  of  recovery — nay,  forced  itself  an 
existence  in  the  very  mouth  of  despair,  and  even  tried 
to  rally  its  expiring  energies  over  her  breathless  corpse. 
After  four  weeks'  suffering,  the  last  night  came : — Mary 
requested  me  to  lie  by  her  side  that  night,  as  if  to  give 
me  some  consolation  for  the  approaching  stroke  of 
Death — and,  ere  the  morning  dawned,  her  spirit  had 
fled !  That  indeed  was  the  opening  of  a  new  scene  in 
the  hurried  drama  which  was  passing  before  me.  It  was 


THE    GKAVE   OF   MY   DAUGHTER. 


my  first  affliction.     I  could  write  a  volume  on  its  im 
pressions  and  its  tendencies,  but  it  would  weary. 

In  a  lovely  grave,  in  a  romantic  situation,  repose  tlie 
remains  of  my  cherished  one,  secure  alike  from  pres 
ent  suffering  and  the  danger  of  future  ills.  That  spot 
I  love  to  visit,  and  to  repeat,  in  Kirke  White's  touch 
ing  lines : 

"  Securely  laid 
In  this  thy  last  retreat, 
Unheeded  o'er  thy  silent  dust 
The  storms  of  life  shall  beat." 

And  another  day  (which  the  Father  hath  in  his  own 
power)  shall  gather  me  and  my  loved  family  in  one  re 
deemed  circle,  where  tears  and  trials  forever  cease,  and 
love  and  joy  fill  every  heart. 


VIII, 
®l)e  (B>rat)e  of  tnji 

THE  sweet  month  has  again  returned — the  first  of  the 
summer  months — which  will  ever  be  remembered  by 
me  as  the  season  when  my  cherished  one  sickened  and 
died.  If  not  a  father,  reader,  you  may  pass  on  to  the 
next  article,  though  I  should  delight  to  detain  you  near 
my  little  daughter's  grave  for  a  few  moments.  But  if 
the  pulse  of  parental  love  has  ever  had  vitality  in  your 
bosom,  I  need  not  apologize.  My  feelings,  my  sympa 
thies,  my  joys,  my  sorrows,  are  yours.  Two  years  have 


46  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

now  elapsed  since  that  day  when  death  first  entered  my 
family.  The  whole  scene  rushes  vividly  before  the 
mind,  showing  how  deep  and  strong  was  the  impression 
then  made.  The  first  attack  of  the  insidious  disease — 
the  promise  of  recovery — then  the  relapse — the  inces 
sant  anxieties — the  unsleeping  vigils — the  anguish  of 
the  helpless  sufferer — her  sweet  submission  to  the  will 
of  God — her  triumph  over  death  and  the  grave — in  a 
word,  the  succession  of  emotions,  that,  like  wave  after 
wave,  swept  across  our  bosoms,  while  life  hung  in 
fearful  uncertainty — all  these  are  engraven  as  with  the 
point  of  a  diamond  on  the  tablet  of  memory.  Nor 
would  we  erase  them.  It  is  not  a  mere  dream  of  the 
poet's  imagination,  that  there  is  "luxury  in  grief."  This 
idea  is  true  to  nature.  Not  indeed  that  the  pain  is  not 
intense  when  those  chords  of  the  heart  are  struck, 
which  are  the  very  seat  of  the  most  exquisite  sensibility, 
but  that  pain  is  mellowed  and  hallowed  by  some  mys 
terious  influence,  flowing  from  the  inexhaustible  fount 
ain  of  infinite  benevolence.  I  never  knew  a  serious 
and  devout  heart,  that  would  have  wished  its  chastise 
ments  in  any  other  shape  than  that  conceived  by  Divine 
Wisdom.  The  thorn  is  indeed  there,  but  so  is  the  fra 
grant  rose.  If  the  one  pierces,  the  other  soothes. 

"  The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 
But  sweet  -will  be  the  flower." 


When  once  the  mind  has  surmounted  the  difficulties 
that  press  upon  it,  it  acts  with  increased  vigor  and  a 
more  enlarged  freedom.  At  first  the  attention  becomes 
riveted  to  the  mass  of  breathless  clay.  With  a  too  in 
tense,  but  pardonable  fondness,  it  clings,  as  Doddridge 


THE   GRAVE   OF   MY   DAUGHTER.  4:7 

tenderly  expresses  it,  to  "  the  darling  dust."  There  is 
the  image  of  your  child ;  and  what  a  ray  of  comfort 
darts  across  the  deep  sorrow  of  the  soul,  when  you  can 
see  and  say,  or  hear  others  say,  "  She  looks  natural  /" 
Not  long  will  that  be  true.  Those  lips,  once  instinct 
with  the  warm  coloring  of  life,  are  now  cold  and  color 
less.  Would  they  would  remain  ever  so!  But  no, 
they  must  decay,  and  be  hidden  in  the  dust.  The  cheek 
that  was  often  pressed  to  yours  in  the  ardor  of  filial 
love,  has  now  on  it  only  the  marble  chill  of  death.  Oh, 
how  the  heart  writhes  in  a  paroxysm  of  agony,  when 
the  truth  and  reality  of  the  thing  are  felt !  Would  it 
were  literal  marble,  that  the  heart  might  love  that; 
but  no,  the  decay  of  the  grave  must  deform  and  dissolve 
the  fair  clay.  The  slumberer  will  not,  indeed,  be  sensi 
ble  to  this  process,  but  the  living  know  it.  The  father 
knows  that  the  cherished  form  of  his  child  molders  in 
the  grave.  The  mother  knows  that  the  loved  one, 
whom  she  bore,  and  nursed,  and  fondled,  is  now  buried 
out  of  her  sight.  Such  is  the  sad  necessity  of  death ! 
And  it  is  on  these  subjects  that  the  mind  is  too  prone 
to  dwell.  The  heart  lingers  too  much  round  these 
visible  scenes.  "  She  goeth  to  the  grave  to  weep  there." 
Oh,  why  did  she  not  look  up?  Contemplations  that  are 
bounded  only  by  the  limits  of  the  grave  are  less  fitted 
to  minister  consolation  to  affliction  than  nutriment  to 
sorrow,  even  that  "  sorrow  of  the  world  that  worketh 
death."  If  the  soul,  in  the  tumult  of  its  grief,  will  but 
pause  a  moment  and  listen,  it  will  soon  hear  a  voice 
saying :  "  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life.  He 
that  belie veth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he 
live,  and  he  that  liveth  and  belie  veth  in  me  shall  never 


48  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

die."  This  changes  the  entire  scene.  It  is  no  more 
sight,  but  faith.  What  a  world  of  wonders  does  faith 
unfold  to  the  view !  Now^  we  can  see  the  ransomed 
spirit,  not  as  it  is  oppressed  with  doubt  and  agonized 
with  suffering,  but  spreading  the  unclogged  wings  of 
its  Love,  and  expatiating  with  rapture  amid  scenes  of 
heavenly  beauty  and  songs  of  seraphic  melody.  Who 
would  be  so  cruel  as  to  call  that  spirit  back,  again  to 
be  soiled  with  the  dust  of  earth  ;  to  re-endure  its  sor 
rows  ;  to  be  again  endangered  by  its  fascinations  ;  flat 
tered  with  its  illusions ;  distracted  with  its  cares,  and 
deceived  by  its  promises !  Is  it  not  better  for  the  soul 
to  find  "  its  long-sought  rest !" — to  be  disrobed  of  its 
earthly  mantle ;  to  enter  the  pure  and  perfect  society 
of  the  blessed ;  to  dwell  where  Holiness  holds  its  court; 
where  angels  tune  their  harps ;  where  the  redeemed 
swell  the  high  anthem  of  praise  to  the  exalted  LAMB  ; 
where  it  will  never  be  interrupted  in  that  worship, 
which  was  the  original  privilege  and  the  delicious  em 
ployment  of  the  soul,  "created  in  the  image  of  God!" 

Requiescat  in  pace. 

Here,  then,  is  the  dust  of  my  child.  Many  a  sweet 
spring  shall  put  forth  its  blossoms  in  sight  of  this  early 
grave,  but  my  little  flower  will  remain  crushed  within 
its  dark  bosom.  Many  a  gay  summer  will  shed  its 
beauty  around  the  scene,  and  the  bright  colors  of 
Autumn  will  illumine  yonder  woodlands,  but  in  this 
world  my  loved  one  will  never  smile  again !  Oh,  the 
inexorable  despotism  of  death !  Oh,  the  iron-hearted 
sovereignty  of  the  grave  !  The  thought  is  almost  insup 
portable.  But  again  religion  teaches  us  to  lift  our  eyes 


A    FUNEKAL    IN    THE    COHNTKY.  4:9 

from  the  ashes  of  the  dead  to  the  region  of  pure,  ethe 
real  existence,  of  spiritual  love,  of  unsullied  holiness, 
and  uninterrupted  happiness.  Nay,  this  must  be  the 
very  object  of  dispensations  like  these,  to  summon  the 
mind  to  the  contemplation  of  its  superior  good,  and  to 
attract  the  heart  toward  the  center  of  every  pure  affec 
tion — the  supreme  object  of  love  and  adoration  to  every 
holy  being.  Then  let  these  things  come  in  their  time. 
They  come  L.ot  by  chance.  Inspiration  eloquently 
teaches  us  that  they  "  come  not  forth  of  the  dust,  nor 
spring  out  of  the  ground."  It  tells  us  that  "  Life  is  a 
vapor."  How  many  parents  can  attest  it ! 

"  She  came  and  passed.     Can  we  forget 
How  we,  whose  hearts  had  hailed  her  birth, 
Ere  four  autumnal  suns  had  set, 
Consigned  her  to  her  Mother  Earth ' 
Joys  and  their  memory  pass  away, 
But  griefs  are  deeper  plowed  than  they !' 

Heaven  will  equalize  all !  The  soul  that  breathes  its 
aspirations  for  such  perfection  can  never  receive  amiss 
what  Heaven  sends. 


IX, 
&  funeral  in  the  Comtlrn. 

THIS  is  one  of  the  necessities  of  mortal  man.  No  day, 
110  hour  is  without  its  funeral.  So  common  is  it  in  the 
experience  of  man,  that  he  lets  it  pass,  and  thinks  no 
more  of  it.  Especially  does  this  heartlessness  exist  in 

3 


50  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

the  city.  They  are  less  careless  and  unthonghtful  in 
the  country.  Have  you  spent  a  summer  in  a  E  ew  Eng 
land  valley,  along  whose  rich  sides  the  tones  of  the  Sab 
bath-bell  are  heard  to  reverberate  at  the  church-going 
hour  ?  But  why  is  the  bell  tolling  suddenly  on  the  ear 
in  the  middle  of  the  week,  at  an  unusual  hour  of  the 
day,  perhaps  early  in  the  morning,  or  at  the  going 
down  of  the  sun,  as  if  matins  or  vespers  were  about  to 
be  solemnized  in  the  land  of  the  Puritans  ?  Ah  !  it  is 
not  for  the  living,  but  for  the  dead.  It  does  not  imper 
atively  call  to  prayers  for  the  dead,  but  announces  the 
simple,  solemn  fact,  that  some  one,  perhaps  known  to 
all — has  died !  But  is  it  a  tender  child  or  a  strong 
man  ?  Has  blooming  youth  or  hoary  age  fallen  ?  Wait 
a  few  moments,  till  the  measured  and  melancholy  stroke 
shall  cease.  ISTow,  after  a  solemn  pause,  while  all  ears 
are  attent,  may  be  heard  a  number  of  strokes  in  rapid 
succession.  There  may  be  six ;  there  may  be  twenty  ; 
there  may  be  forty,  or  seventy.  If  the  first,  childhood 
has  received  its  last  earthly  repose.  If  the  second,  a 
young  person  is  no  more.  If  the  third,  middle  age  is 
soon  to  be  shrouded  for  the  grave.  If  the  last,  some  old 
inhabitant  has  at  length  completed  the  weary  journey 
of  life.  Thus  the  village  bell  gives  notice  that  the  vil 
lagers  must  prepare  for  a  funeral.  Could  wore 
forms  speak  like  this  to  the  living  ? 

The  crowded  city  could  not  hear  such  an  admonition. 
And  yet,  amid  all  the  business  and  bustle  of  the  city, 
every  day  some  hearts  are  breaking.  Maternal  love  is 
weeping  over  the  image  of  departed  infancy.  I  say 
image,  for  the  infant's  mind— the  soul— is  not  there. 
Not  colder,  though  more  enduring  is  the  marble  statue 


A  FUNERAL  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  51 


itself.  Yet  even  to  the  lifeless  statue  of  her  child  does 
she  cling  with  undying  affection.  And  ere  that  lid, 
which  must  close  on  us  all,  is  fastened  down,  how  many 
warm  kisses  does  she  impress  on  the  pale  clay !  To 
say  that  I  respect  such  an  expression  of  maternal  affec 
tion,  would  be  stoical.  I  love  to  see  it ;  not  for  the 
agony  of  that  parting  moment,  but  for  the  beautiful  de 
velopment  of  an  affection  of  which  God  is  the  author, 
and  for  the  relief  which  it  brings  to  a  burdened  heart — 
the  greater  if  tears  can  flow,  irnpearling  the  cheek  of 
infancy.  Yes,  mother,  restrain  not  the  tenderness  of  a, 
heart  which  can  only  be  relieved  by  opening  its  secret 
and  mysterious  channels,  and  letting  the  tide  of  emo 
tion  flow  through  them. 

Nor,  when  the  picture  is  reversed,  does  the  scene  less 
strongly  grasp  the  chords  of  sympathy  in  the  heart.  I 
have  seen  the  deep  stillness  of  the  funeral  agitated  by 
the  sobs  of  a  motherless  child,  and  heard  him  break 
forth  in  the  most  natural  exclamations  of  filial  love,  at 
that  moment  so  agonizing  to  bereaved  survivors,  when 
the  coffin  that  incloses  the  precious  treasure  sinks  into 
the  grave.  "  I  can't  go  away — I  can't  go  away,"  cried 
a  little  girl  erewhile,  as  the  grave  was  receiving  its 
charge,  and  depriving  her  forever  of  her  natural  guard 
ian  on  earth.  She  could  not  leave  the  spot.  "  Let  me 
be  buried  with  my  mother,"  repeatedly  begged  a  little 
boy,  who  could  scarcely  believe  they  would  be  so  cruel 
as  to  separate  her  from  him,  and  never  again  permit 
him  to  see  that  lovely  face,  and  lay  his  head  on  that 
fond  bosom,  the  dearest  to  him  on  earth. 

When  I  have  witnessed  these  things — when  I  have 
heard  the  artless,  but  heart-penetrating  questions  asked 


52  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

by  children,  while  the  mournful  preparations  for  the 
funeral  engaged  the  attention  of  these  argus-eyed  ob 
servers,  I  have  been  ready  to  exclaim,  Oh  Sin !  what 
hast  thou  done  !  Thou  hast  rudely,  ruthlessly  violated 
the  most  sacred  affections  of  humanity.  Sighs  and 
groans  are  the  aliment  of  thy  life.  The  tears  and  trials 
of  the  afflicted  attend  thy  pathway  through  this  wilder 
ness.  No  wonder  that  Divine  inspiration  personifies 
thee  as  a  remorseless  tyrant,  or  that  he  who  drank  so 
deeply  of  the  spirit  of  the  sacred  muse,  the  poet  of  Par 
adise,  the  sublime  painter  of  heaven's  joys  and  hell's 
terrors  and  tortures,  should  sketch  such  pictures  of  thee, 
Oh  Sin,  which  "  hath  reigned  unto  death."  An  angel 
could  not  hold  such  a  pencil.  It  must  be  the  hand  of 
one  who  has  himself  sinned  or  been  sinned  against. 
Thus  has  fallen  man  been  compelled  to  write  his  own 
history,  and  lay  bare  the  anatomy  of  his  own  heart. 
And  his  doom  on  earth  is  to  witness  funerals  till  his 
own  shall  be  attended,  "  waiting  all  the  days  of  his  ap 
pointed  time  till  his  change  come." 

As  there  never  was  a  man  who  had  a  keener  relish 
for  domestic  life,  with  its  "  home-born  delights,"  than 
Cowper,  so  none  could  describe  them  with  superior 
skill  and  beauty.  He  fondly  loved  his  mother,  as 
none  could  doubt  who  ever  read  his  poetry.  How 
did  his  imagination  kindle  when  his  cousin,  Ann 
— ,  presented  him  with  a  picture  of  his  departed 
mother ! 

"  My  mother,  when  I  learned  that  thou  wast  dead, 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed  ? 
****** 
I  heard  the  bell  tolled  on  thy  funeral  day, 
I  saw  the  hearse  that  bore  thee  slow  away ; 


CONGRESSIONAL   CEMETERY.  53 

And  turning  from  my  nursery  window,  drew 
A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu. 
But  was  it  such  ?     It  was.     Where  thou  art  gone, 
Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown. 
May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore, 
The  parting  words  shall  pass  my  lips  no  more ! 
*  *  *  *         The  record  fair 

That  memory  keeps  of  all  thy  kindness  there,* 
Still  outlives  many  a  storm,  that  has  effaced 
A  thousand  other  themes  less  deeply  traced : 
Thy  nightly  visits  to  my  chamber  made, 
That  thou  might'st  know  me  safe  and  warmly  laid." 

Thus  image  after  image,  simple  and  natural,  and  con 
tinually  associated  with  home,  is  brought  forth,  the  off 
spring  of  the  memory  and  the  imagination  united,  all 
for  a  serious  and  valuable  purpose.  They  seem  copies 
from  nature  rather  than  inventions  of  art,  and  to  spring 
from  the  heart  rather  than  the  fancy ;  nor  did  he  pen  a 
line  which,  "  dying,  he  could  wish  to  blot."  At  length 
his  own  funeral  was  attended,  and,  reader,  so  will  be 
that  of  yours  and  mine ! 


X, 
Congressional 

''  Remember  me — oh !  pass  not  thou  my  grave, 

Without  one  thought  whose  relics  there  recline. 
The  only  pang  my  bosom  dare  not  brave, 
Would  be  to  find  forgetfulness  in  thine." 

IF  all  men  do  not  aspire  to  an  illustrious  immor 
tality,  all  desire   to  be   remembered,  at  least  by  a 

*  In  the  sanctuary  of  home. 


54  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

chosen  few.  The  utter  extinction  of  all  thoughts  in 
regard  to  us  may  perhaps  be  considered  the  next  bitter 
thing  to  annihilation  itself,  on  which  few  can  reflect 
with  composure.  When  Byron  wrote  the  lines  quoted 
above,  which  constitute  a  part  of  the  exquisite  song  of 
Medora  in  the  Corsair,  he  obeyed  the  natural  law  of 
impassioned  feeling  as  a  poet,  and  betrayed  the  natural 
sense  of  immortality  as  a  man,  in  direct  contradiction 
to  sentiments  that  escaped  him  in  those  inauspicious 
moments  when  the  dark  cloud  of  skepticism  cast  its 
gloomy  shadow  over  his  genius.  Then  would  he  prate 
of  the  "  first  dark  day  of  nothingness"  as  if  he  were  not 
ashamed  of  the  creed  of  the  atheist,  who  would  blot  the 
sun  from  the  moral  sky,  and  bring  back  the  reign  of 
ancient  night ;  in  fact,  a  scene  of  wild  ruin  and  terrific 
chaos,  well  described  in  his  celebrated  "  Dream."  Too 
truly  he  delineates  his  own  experience,  when,  in  one  of 
those  moods,  he  writes  : 

"  I  have  thought 

Too  long  and  darkly,  till  my  brain  became, 
In  its  own  eddy,  boiling  and  o'erwrought, 
A  whirling  gulf  of  fantasy  and  flame." 

But  while  we  cannot  subscribe  to  the  doctrine  of 
Chateaubriand,  that  the  existence  of  grave-yards,  and 
our  veneration  for  tombs,  are  convincing  arguments  for 
the  truth  of  Christianity — a  doctrine  for  which  he  was 
indebted  rather  to  the  ardor  of  his  imagination  than  to 
the  soundness  of  his  reasoning  powers — we  own  that 
the  influence  emanating  from  the  place  of  sepulture  is 
by  no  means  small;  that  the  solemn  shades  of  the 
burial-ground  are  congenial  with  a  certain  class  of  emo 
tions  natural  to  the  human  breast,  and  that  there  are 


CONGRESSIONAL   CEMETERY.  55 

voices  thence  which  speak  in  impressive  tones,  for  they 
seem  to  come  from  the  very  borders  of  the  spirit-land. 

It  was  in  those  mysterious  regions  that  the  genius  of 
Mrs.  Hemans  seemed  most  at  home,  and  the  passionate 
tenderness  of  her  heart  breathed  forth  with  melancholy 
energy,  as  she  recalled  the  dim  and  shadowy  forms  of 
the  past,  or  gazed  with  intensity  of  imagination  into 
the  future.  Hence  the  interest  which  some  minds  take 
in  consecrated  grounds — in  God's  acre — as  the  burial- 
place  has  been  sententiously  termed.  Of  those  who 
have  committed  a  friend  to  the  last  repose,  there  are 
few  indeed  who  have  not  a  secret  sympathy  for  the 
spirit  of  the  place.  Hence  the  popularity  of  those 
cemeteries  which  are  increasing  in  the  land.  Hence 
the  interesting  spectacle  of  the  living  visiting  the  dead 
in  such  numbers.  Hence  the  efforts  of  the  genius  of 
sculpture  to  resist  the  extinguishing  influences  of  Death, 
and  to  attempt  monuments  of  triumph  even  on  the 
bosom  of  the  grave.  The  name  is  happy — it  is  signifi 
cant.  CEMETERY,  or  sleeping-place !  Here  is  Greek 
etymology  and  Greek  philosophy — of  the  imagination, 
for  the  Greeks  were  a  romantic  and  imaginative  people, 
and  invested  all  the  forms  of  nature  and  art  with  ideal 
life,  or  linked  to  them  some  beautiful  image  to  stir  and 
delight  the  mind. 

A  visit  to  the  Congressional  burial-ground  at  "Wash 
ington  now  constitutes  a  part  of  the  gratification  of 
strangers  coming  to  the  capital.  It  is  not,  indeed,  a 
"Westminster  Abbey,  but  to  an  American,  as  an  Amer 
ican,  it  is  a  more  interesting  spot,  for  there  molder 
the  bones  of  some  of  our  best  and  bravest. 

The  location  is  fine.     It  is  near  the  banks  of  the 


56  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

Anacostia,  some  distance  below  the  point  where  it 
leaves  the  main  channel  of  the  Potomac,  and  commands 
a  lovely  view  of  the  circumjacent  country.  The  pencil 
of  "Wordsworth  would  eagerly  catch  the  salient  points 
of  this  picture,  and  arrange  them  on  the  canvas  with 
striking  effect.  In  the  softer  states  of  the  atmosphere, 
when  the  "  winds  are  pillowed  on  the  waves,"  the  deep 
bosom  of  the  placid  river  may  be  seen  to  reflect  the 
features  of  the  glowing  landscape  spread  out  on  its 
border.  Still  more  enchanting  is  the  aspect  of  the 
southern  sky,  when,  after  the  "  long  sunny  lapse  of  a 
bright  summer's  day,"  the  sun  has  descended  to  "  bathe 
his  fiery  axle"  in  the  western  waters,  leaving  the  tints 
of  his  many-colored  pictures  on  the  face  of  the  firma 
ment,  and  regaling  the  sense  of  beauty  in  man  with 
exquisite  pleasure.  This,  too,  is  a  sequestered  place. 
The  spirit  of  solitude  dwells  here.  *In  my  various  visits 
to  it,  I  have  seldom  seen  any  one  there. 

Better  is  the  opportunity  of  conversing  with  the  dead. 
What,  then,  is  the  meaning  of  that  tall  pyramidal  monu 
ment  of  almost  Parian  marble,  on  which  may  be  seen, 
in  bas-relief,  the  striking  head  of  some  American  states 
man  ?  It  is  among  the  first  to  meet  the  eye  as  you  enter 
these  solitary  walks  and  solemn  shades.  It  covers  the 
remains  of  George  Clinton,  New  York's  noble  son,  who, 
in  the  infancy  of  the  republic,  sat  in  the  chair  of  the 
American  Senate. 

Near  it  is  the  monument  of  Massachusetts'  venerable 
statesman,  Elbridge  Gerry,  who  occupied  the  same  chair, 
and  who  died  on  his  way  to  the  Senate-chamber  to  dis 
charge  his  official  duties,  saying,  "If  a  man  had  but  one 
day  to  live,  he  should  devote  that  to  his  country."  They 


CONGRESSIONAL    CEMETERY.  57 

lived  long  and  well  for  their  generation  and  country,  and 
in  death  they  are  not  divided.  Time,  whose  chief  pre 
rogative  it  is  to  wrear  out  and  destroy,  seems  to  confirm 
and  hallow  the  immortality  of  such  names. 

A  little  further  on,  you  will  find  the  grave  of  the 
accomplished  Pinkney,  the  pride  and  boast  of  Mary 
land,  who  fell  in  a  moment,  as  if  pierced  by  some  death- 
winged  weapon  on  the  battle-field.  He  was  all  life, 
elasticity,  power,  vivacity.  The  whole  man,  physical, 
intellectual,  moral,  and  imaginative,  contributed  to  his 
vehement  and  glowing  eloquence,  making  him  literally 
an  eloquent  man.  The  deep  fountain  of  enthusiasm  was 
in  him,  and  it  must  pour  itself  forth,  not  alone  in  the 
presence  of  the  popular  or  the  deliberative  assembly, 
but  before  the  judicial  bench,  where  cool  and  quiet 
argument  would  seem  to  be  the  only  thing  in  demand. 
Yet  some  men  must  be  enthusiastic  even  in  argument. 
The  grave  has  quenched  all.  That  tongue  is  here  turned 
to  dust.  It  is  speechless.  The  wand  of  the  enchanter, 
broken  by  the  hand  of  Death,  is  buried  in  this  tomb. 

Pass  on,  and  behold  the  neighboring  mound.  More 
than  thirty  years  have  the  mortal  remains  of  the  accom 
plished  Burrill,  of  Rhode  Island,  been  moldering  here. 
An  American  Senator  fills  this  niche  in  the  subterranean 
mansion.  His  budding  fame  was  nipped  by  the  frosty 
hand  of  death,  and  his  place  given  to  another.  Yonder 
lies  another  Senator,  but  he  shall  be  nameless,  for  he 
fell  a  victim  to  the  prime  minister  of  Death — intemper 
ance.  In  vain  did  his  kind-hearted  physician  warn 
him  of  the  fatal  consequences  of  his  continuing  to 
indulge  in  the  inebriating  cup.  He  looked  upon  it. 
He  beheld  the  fascinating  sparkle.  He  saw  the  coiled 

3* 


58  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

adder,  as  it  lay  at  the  bottom  of  that  cup,  and  the  tooth 
of  the  serpent  that  lurked  therein,  and  deliberately  con 
sented  to  be  stung  and  bitten  even  unto  death.  Nor  is 
this  the  only  instance.  Give  tongues  to  many  of  the 
graves  around  me,  and  what  a  wail  of  lamentation 
would  ascend  from  their  depths  into  the  ears  of  the 
living — what  warning  voices  would  fill  the  air  with 
their  mournful  sounds ! 

Look  at  this  grave  on  which  the  turf  lies  so  com 
pactly.  Who  is  its  tenant  ?  A  singular  man  he  was ; 
sometimes  a  legislator,  spouting  for  his  constituents ; 
anon,  a  general,  issuing  magniloquent  proclamations  on 
the  frontiers  of  his  country,  and  depending  for  such 
immortality  as  he  possesses,  rather  on  these  than  on 
feats  of  arms;  anon,  retiring  into  theological  studies, 
and  affecting  to  explain  the  most  profound,  mysterious, 
and  inexplicable  book  of  the  sacred  canon,  a  task  from 
which  the  most  learned  theologians  have  shrunk  in 
despair.  Ah !  how  many  live  and  die  without  under 
standing  either  their  gifts  or  their  deficiencies ! 

Turning  from  this  contemplation,  the  attention  is 
arrested  by  the  white  monument  of  a  representative, 
who  suddenly  expired  in  his  place  on  the  floor  of  the 
House  of  Representatives  in  the  midst  of  a  conflict  of 
feeling — a  very  storm  of  emotion,  raised  by  the  breath 
of  calumny  or  of  satire,  too  intolerable  for  his  sensitive 
nature.  Thou  art  calm  now !  The  sting  of  satire  or  of 
slander  cannot  pierce  the  bosom  of  the  grave.  How 
deep  its  slumber !  How  passionless  its  repose ! 

"  How  peaceful  and  how  powerful  is  the  grave  1" 

"  After  life's  fitful  fever,"  man  sleeps  the  sleep  that 
"  knows  no  waking,"  till  the  resurrection  trumpet  shall 


CONGRESSIONAL    CEMETERY.  59 

utter  its  voice  through  the  earth,  to  be  reverberated 
from  all  the  regions  of  death,  to  be  obeyed  with  equal 
alacrity  by  the  prince  and  the  peasant,  the  rich  and 
the  poor,  the  learned  and  the  illiterate,  the  bond  and 
the  free,  the  righteous  and  the  wicked.  Then  shall  the 
reign  of  retribution  commence,  and  the  age  of  masks 
eternally  cease. 

Here,  too,  lies  another  member,  whose  breadth  of 
intellect  and  of  frame  was  conspicuous  ;  eminent  in  law 
and  in  legislation,  yet  a  slave  to  the  alcoholic  passion, 
in  the  indulgence  of  which  his  strong  mind  was  pros 
trated  with  his  body,  and  to  this  premature  ruin  did  he 
come.  Drop  a  tear,  and  go  on. 

Not  far  from  him  reposes  one  who  in  a  dark  night 
walked  off  the  wharf,  and  was  drowned  in  the  Potomac. 
Truly,  "  it  is  not  in  man  that  walketh  to  direct  his  steps." 
As  in  man's  moral  history  it  so  often  occurs,  so  in  this 
case,  that  one  step  was  fatal  and  irretrievable. 

Walk  this  way,  and  you  will  find  the  remains  of 
Gov.  Trimble,  of  Ohio,  which  have  been  moldering  here 
some  thirty-four  years,  while  his  State  has  been  adding 
hundreds  of  thousands  to  her  population.  Could  he  be 
permitted  to  leave  his  cold  rest,  and  revisit  the  theater 
of  his  political  life;  could  he  now  survey 'the  great 
West,  how  would  he  be  astonished  at  the  celerity,  as 
well  as  charmed  with  the  dignity,  with  which  the  march 
of  empire  westward  has  been  maintained,  while  he  has 
slumbered  in  that  spot !  Of  how  little  consequence  is 
the  perpetuation  of  the  life  of  one  man  in  the  estimate 
of  great  interlinked  events,  and  in  the  progress  of  king 
doms  and  republics !  What  miracles  are  wrought  in 
this  country  in  a  quarter  of  a  century !  How  few  of 


60  GLEANINGS   AND   GKOUPINGS. 

our  flaming  politicians  will  be  remembered  a  little 
while  hence ! 

But  what  broken  shaft  is  that  towering  in  the  distance, 
as  you  look  toward  the  southwest?  It  is  the  marble 
that  commemorates  the  name  and  deeds  of  Brown,  the 
celebrated  major-general,  whose  genius  appeared  at  the 
critical  period  of  the  war  of  1812,  to  restore  the  failing 
fortunes  of  the  American  arms,  and  reassure  the  sinking 
courage  of  the  land.  How  brilliant  was  the  lustre  that 
encircled  his  name !  Yet  how  little  of  it  escapes  the 
edacious  tomb !  By  sudden  martial  achievements  he 
rose  to  the  head  of  the  army.  Deep  now  is  the  sleep  of 
the  hero.  No  sound  of  the  trumpet,  no  roll  of  the  drum 
can  "  wake  him  to  glory  again."  More  recent  is  the  dust 
of  his  compeer  in  arms  and  military  successor — Macomb 
— who  achieved  on  the  banks  of  the  Saranac  a  name 
which  posterity  will  not  willingly  let  altogether  die. 

Let  us  now  pass  round  to  another  point,  and  dwell  a 
moment  on  the  memory  of  an  eminent,  I  may  say  an 
illustrious  civilian,  whose  clay  is  beneath  our  feet.  I 
mean  William  Wirt,  one  of  America's  noblest  sons ; 
urbane  as  a  gentleman ;  kind  and  amiable  as  a  friend ; 
of  the  first  order  of  intellect ;  endowed  with  an  imagin 
ation  captivating  even  to  enchantment,  yet  on  fitting 
occasions  restrained  by  a  finished  critical  taste  and 
judgment ;  learned  in  the  law,  the  delight  of  judges, 
the  admiration  of  advocates,  and  a  tower  of  strength  to 

*  O 

clients.  Can  it  be  that  the  noble  form,  which  so  often 
stood  in  majesty  before  the  supreme  bench,  lies  here  a 
heap  of  dust?  Is  that  countenance  of  manly  beauty, 
which  glowed  with  the  expression  of  blended  benevo 
lence,  intelligence,  and  energy,  now  an  unsightly  ruin 


CONGRESSIONAL  CEMETERY.  61 

beneath  this  clod?  The  hand  that  traced  those  inimi 
table  pictures  in  the  British  Spy,  and  painted  in  gor 
geous  colors  the  burning  eloquence  of  Henry,  is  it  but  a 
crumbling  skeleton  ?  Such  is  the  lot  of  man ;  yet,  while 
talent  can  command  respect,  genius  awaken  admira 
tion,  eloquence  inspire  enthusiasm,  or  the  moral  virtues 
elicit  the  heartfelt  tribute  of  praise,  the  memory  of  such 
a  man  will  endure,  more  imperishable  than  the  tomb 
which  embraces  his  mortal  remains,  or  the  marble  that 
marks  the  spot  where  they  repose. 

Here,  also,  may  be  found  the  sailor's  grave,  the  quiet 
port  where  he  has  cast  his  last  earthly  anchor,  after  the 
storms  and  strifes  of  the  sea  are  no  more.  Rodgers, 
Tingey,  Kennon,  and  others,  each  of  whom  went  forth, 
"  the  monarch  of  the  peopled  deck,"  have  struck  their 
flag  to  the  common  conqueror,  and  here  lie  his  passive 
prisoners.  'No  more  will  the  broad  pennant,  the  symbol 
of  command,  be  for  them  hoisted  over  the  gallant  ship. 
No  more  do  they  feel  any  interest  in 

"  The  armaments  which  thunder-strike  the  walla 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake, 

And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals — 
The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay-creator  the  vain  title  take 

Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war !" 

No,  but  other  spirits  arise  to  trace  ambition's  dangerous 
path,  and  find  its  termination  in  the  hollow  tomb.  War 
especially  wakes  up  the  bold,  martial,  and  sanguinary 
passions  of  men,  while  it  blunts  the  moral  sensibilities, 
and  multiplies  a  hundred-fold  the  triumphs  of  death, 
and  the  victories  of  the  grave. 

But  what  is  this  unique-looking  monument,  that  amid 


62  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

the  surrounding  multitude  seems  an  isolated  object  ?  It 
covers  the  dust  of  Pushmataha,  the  Indian  chief,  who 
died  among  the  white  men,  far  from  his  native  forests 
and  sympathetic  warriors.  He  was  the  white  man's 
friend,  and  the  white  man  honored  him  with  an  extra 
ordinary  sepulchral  ceremonial,  and  a  handsome  mon 
ument.  To  the  darkened  mind  of  this  poor  Indian,  the 
highest  evidence  of  posthumous  honor  was  to  be  saluted 
with  the  thunder  of  the  "  big  guns,"  amid  whose  sub 
lime  reverberations  his  soul  would  be  wafted  to  those 
islands  of  the  blest,  where  the  spirits  of  his  fathers 
wandered  at  large,  enjoying  the  chase  or  the  feast. 
Here,  then,  lies  the  molderiug  Indian,  a  kind  of  repre 
sentative,  amid  this  diversified  throng,  of  that  wild  and 
interesting  race,  that  have  been  swept  from  the  Atlantic 
shores,  and  from  the  Alleghanian  regions,  by  the  resist 
less  tide  of  civilization,  sparing  only  those  beautiful 
names  that  will  flow  with  our  native  streams  to  the 
end  of  time,  or  cling  to  the  everlasting  mountains,  as 
they  tower  to  meet  the  face  of  the  sky,  or  greet  the  first 
rays  of  the  gorgeous  sun  as  he  rises  from  his  ocean-bed 
to  fill  the  earth  with  his  glory.  The  Indian  is  gone. 
Only  romantic  names  and  wild  legends  remain.  The 
race  itself  is  entombed — some  remnants  excepted.  But 
the  page  of  retributive  justice  has  not  yet  been  unfolded 
to  man.  The  tribunal  of  appeals — the  final  court  of  re 
view  is  yet  to  hold  its  sittings.  To  that  court  men  are 
daily  assembling.  The  dead  beneath  me— the  living 
around  me  will  all  be  there. 

And  here  amid  this  row  of  vaults  is  the  spacious 
central  tomb,  that  may  be  called  the  outer  court  of 
Death,  for  the  dead  make  their  first  entrance  here.  It 


CONGRESSIONAL   CEMETERY.  63 

was  in  this  chamber  they  laid  the  lamented  Harrison, 
amid  the  solemn  reverence  and  heartfelt  grief  of  thou 
sands,  who  beheld  the  scene  of  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
April  8th,  1841.  The' banks  of  the  Ohio  have  received 
those  precious  relics,  and  a  nation's  love  guards  them. 

Again,  I  saw  others  of  exalted,  but  less  illustrious 
rank  and  character,  enter  the  same  solemn  portals, 
attended  by  their  living  friends  and  compeers,  who 
would  gladly  have  reanimated  their  dust ;  but,  though 
they  might  move  nations  and  create  empires,  they  could 
not  reverse  the  dread  law  of  Heaven,  which  annexes  its 
sanction  of  irrevocable,  as  well  as  its  appointment  of  in 
evitable,  to  the  last  hour  of  our  mortal  life.  Upshur, 
Gilmer,  Kennon,  and  Gardner,  all  entered  in  silence 
that  vestibule  of  the  sepulchral  mansion,  and  were  laid 
to  their  dreamless  rest. 

The  Egyptians,  who  believed  that  the  soul  dwelt  with 
the  body  in  a  state  of  repose,  naturally  sought  by  skillful 
and  assiduous  arts  to  preserve  the  latter,  and,  committing 
the  treasure  to  the  catacomb  or  the  pyramid,  attempted, 
not  without  a  degree  of  success,  to  resist  the  progress 
of  time  and  the  process  of  decay.  Christianity  teaches 
a  loftier  sentiment — a  more  spiritual  doctrine,  when 
she  sublimely  declares  that  Jesus  Christ  "  abolished 
death,  and  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light  in  the 
Gospel." 

In  vain  do  we  question  the  grave.  The  voice  of 
Revelation  alone  can  satisfy  the  anxieties  of  the  soul 
touching  its  own  destiny.  He  who,  standing  by  the 
tomb  of  a  friend,  said,  "  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the 
life,"  can  adequately  assure  us  in  reference  to  the  re 
union  of  the  dissevered  body  and  spirit,  and  the  exist- 


64  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

ence  of  man  in  the  endless  future.  He  alone  can  tell 
us  how  those  who  have  borne  the  image  of  the  earthly 
shall  bear  the  image  of  the  heavenly,  and  how  a  glory 
can  be  shed  even  on  these  mortal  ruins,  such  as  Parar 
dise  itself  never  knew,  from  the  hour  when  the  justice 
of  Heaven  hung  in  mid  air  above  its  gate  the  cherubic 
sword  of  flame  that  guarded  the  tree  of  life  from  the 
intrusion  of  wicked  men  and  demons. 

"  The  soul,  of  origin  divine 

God's  glorious  image,  freed  from  clay, 
In  heaven's  eternal  sphere  may  shine 
A  star  of  day. 

The  sun  is  but  a  spark  of  fire, 

A  transient  meteor  in  the  sky ; 
The  soul,  immortal  as  its  sire, 
Shall  never  die." 


XI, 
ah.e  Dcafo  of  the  Princeton. 

IT  was  in  the  winter  of  1844,  when  the  ice  had  made 
with  unusual  thickness  in  the  Potomac,  that,  on  a  cold 
day  in  the  early  part  of  February,  the  steamer  Prince 
ton  might  have  been  seen  pushing  her  way  through  the 
frozen  stream  like  a  thing  of  life,  and  at  length,  having 
passed  Alexandria,  coming  to  anchor  at  a  point  about 
half  way  between  that  city  and  the  U.  S.  Arsenal,  situ 
ated  near  the  eastern  branch  of  the  Potomac  called  the 


THE   DEAD   OF   THE   PRINCETON.  65 

Anacostia  River.  Here  she  lay  some  days  in  quiet  re 
pose,  until  the  ice  had  so  far  loosened  in  the  river  as  to 
permit  her  to  move  with  comfort  and  facility  in  the  ele 
ment  which  she  seemed  proudly  to  adorn.  Without 
sails,  with  no  apparent  paddles,  no  visible  motive 
power,  she  glided  up  and  down  the  stream,  indifferent 
to  wind  or  tide,  as  if  endowed  with  some  vital  princi 
ple  within  that  defied  the  resistance  of  all  ordinary  ob 
stacles,  nor  even  accepted  aid  from  human  hands.  One 
could  hardly  help  imagining  that  had  DABWDST  been  lin 
gering  along  those  shores  and  seen  that  sight,  his  soul 
would  have  kindled  into  rapture  with  the  conscious 
ness  that  the  airy  fancies  of  his  prophetic  muse  had  be 
come  visible,  palpable  realities ;  that  the  genius  of  the 
philosopher  and  the  artisan  had  crowned  the  dream  of 
the  poet  with  its  own  regal  immortality.  For  some 
days  the  gay  steamer  disported  herself  in  the  bright 
waters  of  the  Potomac,  now  running  down  to  Fort 
Washington  on  the  Maryland  side,  whose  frowning  bat 
tlements  command  the  channel  of  the  river  some  miles 
below  Alexandria ;  then  descending  to  Mount  Yernon, 
to  view  the  spot  consecrated  to  the  repose  of  the  Father 
of  his  Country  ;  discharging  at  times  her  enormous  ord 
nance,  whose  thunders  shook  the  surrounding  forests 
and  reverberated  in  multiplied  echoes  from  the  distant 
hills ;  while  occasionally  the  "  Peacemaker"  let  fly  a 
ponderous  ball  that  tore  up  the  earth  in  its  passage,  or 
rent  in  pieces  the  trees  with  a  fearful  crash,  all  demon 
strative  of  the  inventive  ability  of  man  to  convert  the 
inert  materials  around  him  into  the  elements  of  terror 
and  destruction,  too  soon,  alas !  to  recoil  with  terrific 
energy  on  himself. 


66  GLEANINGS  AND   GROUPINGS. 

Occasionally  the  Princeton  was  visited  by  members 
of  Congress  and  other  official  characters  ;  also  by  visit 
ors  to  the  capital,  and  by  ladies,  who  constitute  an  im 
portant  feature  in  "Winter  "  Life  at  Washington."  The 
charm  of  their  presence  or  their  proximity  is  quite 
necessary  to  the  progress  either  of  pleasure  or  of  poli 
tics. 

Captain  Stockton  was  proud  of  his  ship,  confident 
that  he  had  invested  her  with  a  power  which  would 
render  her  not  only  formidable,  but  irresistible,  and 
pleased  to  exhibit  her  fine  proportions,  her  perfect  in 
ternal  arrangements,  and  in  general  that  completeness 
of  appointment  which  rendered  her  an  ornament  to 
the  American  navy  and  a  dangerous  antagonist  to  her 
foes. 

The  beautiful  and  complex  machinery  which  em 
braced  the  power  of  propulsion,  though  submerged  and 
accessible  only  by  winding  and  difficult  passages,  was 
the  admiration  of  all  who  descended  to  view  it.  It  was 
an  additional  instance  of  the  constantly  augmenting 
triumphs  of  art  and  genius  ;  an  evidence  of  the  many 
ramifications  which  by  a  law  of  mind  and  matter  seem 
to  spring  out  of  one  grand  principle  of  discovery. 
There  was  the  concentration  of  her  muscular  energies, 
and  there  was  the  illustration  of  the  subjection  of  mat 
ter  to  mind.  But  the  great  objects  of  observation  were 
those  two  monster  guns  on  deck,  in  comparison  with 
which  the  other  portions  of  her  armament  seemed  like 
a  child's  playthings. 

They  seemed  rather  to  be  the  weapons  of  giants  than 
the  lawful  and  suitable  instruments  of  beings  no  larger 
than  men.  They  seemed  unmanageable  by  man's  puny 


THE   DEAD   OF   THE   PRINCETON.  67 

arm.  They  were,  moreover,  significantly  "  christened" 
— "  Oregon"  and  "  Peacemaker"  And  if  there  was  a 
little  of  the  brag  in  one  name,  and  something  of  a  con 
tradiction  in  terms  in  the  other,  it  might  even  be  par 
doned  to  the  spirit  of  liberty  and  to  "  Young  America." 
Had  the  worthy  captain  given  them  such  names  as 
Thunderer  and  Slaughterer,  they  might  have  been  con 
sidered  more  true  and  appropriate.  But  de  gustibus 
nan,  disputandum. 

On  the  28th  of  February  a  select  and  numerous  party 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  by  invitation  of  Captain  Stock 
ton,  embarked  on  board  the  steamer  and  proceeded 
down  the  river,  intending  to  make  a  joyous  day  of  it. 
And  truly,  all  outward  things  seemed  to  conspire  to 
the  production  of  such  a  result. 

The  poet  might  not  inaptly  have  called  it  the  "  bridal 
of  the  earth  and  sky."  The  sun  shone  out  with  superior 
brilliancy.  The  soft  blue  of  the  empyrean  was  untaint 
ed  with  a  cloud.  The  sparkling  waters  of  the  Potomac 
seemed  instinct  with  gladness.  And  "  all  went  merry 
as  a  marriage  bell,"  when  the  gay  party,  embracing 
the  elite  of  the  Washington  circles,  were  fairly  installed 
on  board  the  noble  steamer,  that  soon  weighed  anchor 
and  proceeded  on  her  excursion.  Among  the  company 
were  the  President  and  his  Cabinet — army  and  navy 
officers — members  of  Congress — the  ladies  of  many  of 
these,  some  in  mature  life,  some  in  the  fresher  graces 
of  early  womanhood  ;  many  single  ladies  in  "  beauty's 
vernal  bloom ;"  young  and  fair  creatures,  on  whom  life 
as  yet  sat  lightly  as  the  "  breath  of  Summer  on  the 
yielding  wave ;"  attended,  of  course,  by  gallant  young 
men,  too  happy  to  anticipate  their  lightest  wants.  The 


68  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

bluff  person  of  a  double-epauletted  commodore  might 
be  seen  near  the  plainly  dressed  Secretary  of  a  depart 
ment,  with  whom  he  was  holding  conversation,  and  the 
slight  form  of  the  President  easily  making  its  way  amid 
a  crowd  of  three  hundred  persons. 

As  the  Princeton  moved  down  J&p  Driver,  decorated 
with  a  hundred  flags  of  various  sizes,  the  scene  was  ani 
mating  beyond  description.  Passing  Alexandria,  she 
went  some  distance  down  the  Potomac,  while  the  social 
hours  glided  away  almost  unconsciously  to  the  merry 
company,  all  of  whom  forgot  for  a  while  the  cares  of 
business  and  the  perplexities  of  politics  in  the  sunny 
cheerfulness  of  that  occasion.  The  leading  minds  of 
the  nation  were  there,  but  unbent  from  the  "rigid 
thoughts  of  State."  The  manly,  robust  form  of  Upshur, 
Secretary  of  State,  was  there.  Time  had  cast  its  favor 
ite  color  over  his  somewhat  thin  locks,  while  it  had 
ripened  the  intellect  within ;  the  "  dome  of  thought,  the 
palace  of  the  soul,"  was  massive  in  its  structure,  indi 
cating  in  its  outlines  the  amplitude  of  the  treasure  it 
guarded ;  while  the  general  expression  of  his  counte 
nance  was  in  keeping  with  the  character  of  his  mind, 
which  was  of  a  high  order,  clear,  strong,  and  practical. 
A  noble  victim  indeed  going  to  the  sacrifice !  Who 
knows  what  a  day  may  bring  forth  ? 

The  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  Thomas  W.  Gilmer,  for 
merly  Governor  of  Virginia,  was  a  man  of  lighter  per 
son,  a  polished  gentleman  in  his  manners,  distinguished 
as  much  for  the  amenity  of  his  disposition  as  for  the  in 
tegrity  of  his  character.  Mrs.  Gilmer,  his  accomplished 
lady,  formed  one  of  the  party. 

The  Secretary  of  War,  Judge  Wilkins,  distinguished 


THE   DEAD   OF   THE   PRINCETON.  69 

by  his  silvery  locks  and  coal-black  dress  enveloping  a 
tall  and  slender  form,  was  also  present. 

In  the  progress  of  the  afternoon,  dinner  having  been 
finished,  and  the  wine  having  been  circulated  freely, 
until  a  considerable  number  of  "  dead  men,"  as  an  offi 
cer  present  called,  the  empty  bottles,  had  been  pushed 
aside,  it  was  proposed  that  the  big  gun  should  be  dis 
charged  for  the  gratification  of  the  company.  The 
Princeton  was  then  in  the  vicinity  of  Fort  Washington. 
I  need  not  describe  the  preparations,  the  progress,  or 
the  catastrophe.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  a  scene  of 
horror  and  confusion  ensued  on  the  bursting  of  the  gun, 
to  which  no  pen  can  do  adequate  justice.  To  revive 
the  recollection  of  the  scene  is  quite  undesirable.  But 
what  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  that  festivity ! 
The  gun  had  been  charged  with  twenty-five  pounds  of 
powder,  to  give  momentum  to  a  ball  two  hundred  and 
sixty-five  pounds  in  weight.  The  roar  of  the  ordnance 
was  heard  far  and  wide,  but  little  did  we  imagine  the 
wreck  and  wretchedness  that  followed  the  fatal  experi 
ment.  Sufficient  time  having  elapsed  to  recover  a  little 
from  the  confusion  of  the  catastrophe,  the  Princeton  re 
traced  her  melancholy  way  up  the  river,  and  at  about 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  anchored  opposite  Alexan 
dria.  How  different  from  her  appearance  when  she 
went  down  in  the  morning!  She  was  a  floating  house 
of  mourning.  All  her  gay  pennons  were  struck,  with 
the  solitary  exception  of  a  flag  at  half-mast,  the  symbol 
of  the  triumphs  of  death  in  one  short  hour,  or  rather, 
moment  of  time.  Its  folds  drooped  mournfully  over 
the  dead,  who  were  laid  below,  as  decently  as  the  ur 
gency  of  the  occasion  allowed,  until  suitable  arrange- 


TO  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

rnente  could  be  made  for  their  removal.  The  counte 
nances  of  the  survivors  wore  a  deadly  gloom.  Its  solem 
nity  was  reflected  in  the  sympathies  of  the  spectators. 

Directions  were  sent  on  shore  for  six  coffins  and 
shrouds  to  be  made  that  night  for  the  victims  of  the 
strange  calamity.  That  night !  The  night  of  that  beau 
tiful  day,  when  a  few  hours  before  those  now  breathless 
corpses  were  gayly  walking  the  deck  of  the  proud  steam 
er  !  They  were  now  sleeping  their  last,  their  dreamless 
sleep.  "What  is  man  ?  What  a  vapor  is  life !  The  rich 
and  the  poor,  the  great  and  the  obscure,  then  met  in  the 
dark  valley.  Death  was  the  lord  of  them  all.  When, 
for  the  purpose  of  being  conveyed  to  Washington,  the 
coffined  bodies  were  on  the  next  day  transferred  to  the 
Alexandria  steamer,  and  arrayed  in  melancholy  order, 
the  observant  spectator  silently  enumerated  the  names 
of  the  dead — Upshur,  Gilmer,  Kennon,  Maxcy,  Gardi 
ner — how  few  could  tell  the  name  of  the  poor  colored 
servant  of  the  President,  above  whom  those  distin 
guished  men  were  so  far  exalted  in  life,  but  whose  com 
panions  they  had  now  become  in  death !  He  could  not 
ascend  to  them,  but  they  must  descend  to  him.  All  died 
alike.  Oh  Death!  thou  art  a  mighty  leveler.  Thy 
polished  shaft  is  as  swift  and  sure  for  one  man  as  for  an 
other.  Art  cannot  turn  it  aside.  Greatness  cannot  over 
awe  thee.  Genius  cannot  rise  above  thee.  Obscurity 
cannot  descend  below  thee.  Wealth  cannot  bribe  thee. 
Valor  cannot  cope  with  thee.  Beauty  cannot  disarm  thee. 

"  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour : 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 


THE   DEAD   OF  THE   PRINCETON.  Tl 

At  one  o'clock,  all  things  being  ready,  the  steamer 
Johnson,  with  the  remains  of  the  slain,  in  charge  of  a 
committee  of  gentlemen  from  Washington,  left  the  an 
chorage  at  Alexandria  for  the  capital.  The  Princeton 
now  commenced  firing  minute-guns,  the  first  time  she 
had  broken  silence  since  the  horrible  sounds  of  the  pre 
vious  day.  The  air  was  clear  and  brilliant;  the  sky 
im sullied  with  a  cloud.  An  unwonted  stillness  pervad 
ed  the  atmosphere.  It  wras  the  last  day  of  Winter,  the 
severity  of  whose  reign  was  yielding  to  the  influence  of 
approaching  Spring.  The  last  vestige  of  ice  had  disap 
peared  from  the  Potomac,  and  her  "  glad  waters"  rolled 
in  beauty  to  the  sea,  as  when,  on  the  day  before,  they 
were  freighted  with  the  brave,  the  fair,  and  the  great. 

At  each  discharge  of  the  minute-gun  the  smoke  shot 
high  up  in  the  atmosphere,  exhibiting  the  most  graceful 
undulations,  and  occasionally  forming  a  perfect  wreath 
that  for  some  moments  seemed  suspended  by  some  in 
visible  hand. 

Meanwhile  thousands  stood  in  silence  on  the  wharf  at 
Washington,  awaiting  the  movements  below.  The  first 
information  that  the  steamer  had  left  her  anchorage  was 
conveyed  by  the  sound  of  the  minute-guns  as  it  swept 
through  the  intervening  seven  miles  with  solemn  dis 
tinctness.  The  general  sadness  appeared  to  increase  as 
her  distance  diminished,  and  when  at  length  she  arrived 
at  the  wharf,  presenting  to  the  eyes  of  the  multitude  the 
six  coffins,  for  which  as  many  hearses  were  in  waiting, 
one  universal  feeling  of  sympathy  took  possession  of  the 
breasts  of  the  spectators.  The  tender  tribute  of  a  tear 
might  be  seen  on  many  a  manly  cheek,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  sharper  sorrows  which  by  this  event  had  accumu- 


T2  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

lated  in  private  circles,  overshadowing  their  brightest 
happiness,  and  bringing  the  young  and  the  fair  into  an 
early  communion  with  the  associations  of  the  sepulcher. 
The  cortege  proceeded  to  the  mansion  of  the  President, 
where  it  was  arranged  the  bodies  should  repose  until 
the  day  of  the  funeral.  The  flag  of  the  Union  infolded 
the  coffins  of  the  two  Secretaries ;  the  naval  uniform, 
hat,  and  sword  of  the  commodore*  designated  his  re 
mains. 

It  is  not  fitting  to  intrude  on  private  grief,  for  it  is  of 
the  nature  of  affliction  to  shrink  from  observation. 

The  retirement  of  solitude  is  most  congenial  to  true 
sorrow.  But  feeling  cannot  always  be  repressed,  and 
as  its  manifestations  are  most  natural  in  childhood,  so 
are  they  strong  in  proportion  to  the  simplicity  and  ten 
derness  of  the  young  heart,  which  knows  no  disguise 
and  conceals  no  sorrow.  Hence  when,  on  the  day  of 
the  funeral,  the  little  sons  of  the  commodore  entered  the 
East  Eoom,  and  took  their  seats  in  the  mourning  circle, 
it  was  under  such  a  pressure  of  filial  grief  as  could  with 
difficulty  be  restrained,  and  which  awoke  the  sympa 
thies  of  all  present,  not  unmixed  with  admiration  for  a 
manly  deportment  quite  beyond  their  years.  "What  was 
all  the  stately  sorrow  expressed  in  official  pageantry 
compared  with  the  overflowings  of  those  affectionate 
hearts!  Daughters  were  there,  too,  who  hung  in  an 
agony  of  grief  over  the  mutilated,  though  invisible  re 
mains  of  a  father. 

The  second  of  March  was  a  mournful  day.  It  was, 
in  some  sense,  a  repetition  of  the  scenes  of  April  8, 
1841  when  the  last  rites  wrere  paid  to  the  deceased 
*  Kennon. 


THE   DEAD   OF  THE   PRINCETON.  73 

HARBISON  amid  manifestations  of  feeling,  the  recollec 
tion  of  which  can  never  be  obliterated  from  the  minds 
of  those  who  beheld  the  funeral  ceremonies. 

There  was — there  could  be  on  this  occasion  no  such 
depth  of  sorrow  as  was  then  discovered  in  the  popular 
heart.  The  two  Secretaries  had  been  but  recently  ele 
vated  to  their  official  dignities,  and  under  circumstan 
ces  that  excited  little  interest  either  in  the  higher  or 
lower  ranks  of  political  life.  They  were  excellent,  ami 
able,  and  able  men.  As  such  they  were  to  be  respected 
while  living,  and  lamented  when  dead.  But  they  had 
no  broad  grasp  on  the  affections  of  the  American  peo 
ple.  Still  the  pageant  was  a  solemn  and  affecting  one, 
and  fitted  to  impress  deeply  the  minds  of  those  who  be 
held  it.  It  was  a  funeral  of  public  men  high  in  office, 
suddenly  and  violently  slain  by  weapons  of  war  intend 
ed  only  for  injuring  an  enemy,  and  proudly  trusted  to 
achieve  unprecedented  things  in  naval  warfare. 

Never  was  the  wisdom  of  vain  man  more  egregiously 
at  fault.  Seldom  have  the  violated  lawrs  of  nature  re 
coiled  with  a  more  mortifying  energy  on  those  who  had 
undertaken  the  management  of  the  fearful  elements  of 
destruction  that  are  subject  to  those  laws.  We  might 
adopt  the  language  of  David  in  his  lamentation  over 
Saul  and  Jonathan,  as  he  beheld  the  wreck  before  him : 
"  How  are  the  mighty  fallen,  and  the  weapons  of  war 
perished !" 

The  scene  in  the  East  Room  was  imposing  and  im 
pressive.  Congress  being  in  session,  and  the  Supreme 
Court  not  having  yet  adjourned,  there  was  an  array  of 
talent,  station,  and  influence  seldom  concentrated  into 
the  same  space.  The  body  of  Virgil  Maxcy,  Esq.,  hav- 

4 


74  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

ing  been  conveyed  to  his  friends  in  Maryland  for  pri 
vate  burial,  and  that  of  the  colored  boy  also  being  pri 
vately  buried,  there  remained  four  for  whom  the  public 
ceremonies  were  performed. 

The  line  of  the  procession  stretched  the  whole  length 
of  the  avenue,  attracting  the  attention  of  all  observers, 
and  reminding  them  how  affectingly  frail  is  the  tenure 
of  human  existence ;  how  very  near  the  highest  seats  of 
power  may  be  to  the  scepter  of  the  skeleton  King,  be 
neath  which  all  must  sooner  or  later  bow  in  unquestion 
ing  subjection.  The  display  of  the  military — the  im 
mense  number  of  the  funeral  coaches — the  furled  and 
craped  standards — the  sound  of  the  muffled  drums,  and 
all  indeed  that  appertained  to  the  scene,  were  appropri 
ate  and  congenial  to  the  general  feeling. 

To  quote  from  an  eminent  man,  whose  exalted  genius, 
sanctified  as  it  was  by  the  spirit  of  piety,  commanded 
the  admiration  of  his  country — I  mean  the  Rev.  Robert 
Hall,  the  illustrious  dissenting  divine,  who,  in  his  cele 
brated  sermon  on  the  death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte 
Augusta,  the  pride  and  expectation  of  England,  speak 
ing  of  the  mighty  and  noble  of  this  world,  says :  "  Let 
them  remember  that  they  must  shortly  be  divested  of 
the  brilliant  appendages  and  splendid  ornaments  of  rank 
and  station,  and  enter  into  a  world  where  they  are  un 
known  ;  whither  they  will  carry  nothing  but  the  essen 
tial  elements  of  their  being,  impressed  with  those  in 
delible  characters  which  must  sustain  the  scrutiny  of 
Omniscience.  These  artificial  decorations,  be  it  remem 
bered,  are  not,  properly  speaking,  their  own ;  the  ele 
vation  to  which  they  belong  is  momentary ;  and  as  the 
merit  of  an  actor  is  not  estimated  by  the  part  which  he 


THE    DEAD    OF   THE    PKINCETON.  75 

performs,  but  solely  by  the  truth  and  propriety  of  his 
representation,  and  the  peasant  is  often  applauded 
where  the  monarch  is  hissed,  so  when  the  great  drama 
of  life  is  concluded,  He  who  allots  its  scenes,  and  de 
termines  its  period,  will  take  an  account  of  his  servants, 
and  assign  to  each  his  punishment  or  reward,  in  his 
proper  character."  Such  is  the  policy  of  the  moral 
government  of  God,  and  to  that  should  all,  of  whatever 
rank,  conform  themselves.  May  this,  our  beloved  re 
public,  be  hereafter  as  much  distinguished  for  her  ex 
emplary  obedience  to  the  laws  of  the  Supreme  Ruler, 
as  she  has  been  heretofore  by  His  divine  protection  in 
times  of  imminent  peril,  and  His1  exuberant  mercies  in 
every  period  of  her  eventful  history ! 

It  only  remains  to  add,  that  when  the  procession  ar 
rived  at  the  Congressional  Burial  Ground,  the  hearses 
with  their  respective  treasures,  accompanied  by  the 
clergy  and  the  various  members  of  the  government  of 
the  United  States,  including  the  President  and  the  sur 
viving  members  of  his  cabinet,  passed  the  long  lines  of 
Congressional  monuments,  and  paused  near  the  spacious 
receiving  tomb — dirges  for  the  dead  meanwhile  filling 
the  air  with  solemn  music — until  all  were  laid  in  their 
silent  resting-place,  and  dust  was  left  to  mingle  with  its 
kindred  dust,  till  that  day  when,  in  the  beautiful  lan 
guage  of  inspiration,  "  this  corruption  shall  put  on  in- 
corruption,  and  this  mortal  shall  put  on  immortality !" 


76  GLEANINGS   ANP   GROUPINGS. 


XII, 

&he  funeral  of  Sailor. 

OF  that  vast  and  varied  scene  recently  spread  before 
us  in  this  metropolis,*  and  laying  so  strong  a  grasp  on 
the  public  mind,  different  observers,  while  conscious 
of  being  united  in  one  great  bond  of  sympathy,  will 
take  incidentally  different  views,  and  be  struck  with 
different  features  of  that  scene.  A  common  funeral — 
and  the  funerals  of  members  of  Congress  have  become 
so  common  as  to  awaken  only  a  transient  interest — 
had  ceased  to  act  with  the  vigor  of  a  powerful  and 
practical  lesson  on  the  public  mind. 

Death,  the  inevitable  messenger,  had  frequently  en 
tered  Congress,  especially  the  House  of  Represent 
atives,  within  a  few  past  years,  but,  for  more  than 
seven  months  of  a  most  excited  session,  had  withheld 
his  footsteps  from  that  Hall,  and  selected  more  illus 
trious  victims,  confining  his  reprisals  to  a  single  State, 
and  that  a  peculiar  one.  But  CALHOUN  and  ELMORE 
had  not  long  disappeared  from  the  busy  scene,  ere  the 
providence  of  God  struck  at  a  still  more  conspicuous  ob 
ject,  and  under  that  stroke  was  extinguished  the  bright 
est  star  in  our  political  hemisphere  !  I  had  never  ex 
pected  in  one  life  to  attend  more  than  dne  funeral  of  a 
President  in  office.  The  remembrance  of  the  august 
sepulture  of  HAEKISON— of  the  obsequies  of  a  Presi- 

*  Washington. 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  TAYLOK.  77 

dent,  the  first  in  the  history  of  our  country — could 
never  be  obliterated  from  the  mind.  There  was  a 
freshness,  an  originality,  a  moral  power  in  the  scene 
never  to  be  forgotten.  They  might  be  said  to  impair  the 
influence  even  of  the  august  scene  of  Saturday  last,  so 
close  was  the  resemblance  between  them.  It  was  like 
a  copy  from  an  original.  But  then,  too,  on  the  other 
hand,  this  repetition  of  a  great  providential  event  might 
be  said  to  deepen  the  impression  on  a  thoughtful 
mind,  disposed  to  see  the  hand  of  God  in  it. 

It  was  my  privilege — denied  to  thousands  of  my  fel 
low-citizens  equally  deserving  it — to  be  assigned  a  seat 
within  the  limits  of  the  East  Room,  where,  under  the 
dark  and  mournful  canopy,  reposed  the  remains  of  the 
illustrious  Chief  of  the  Republic — not  in  the  center 
of  the  room,  as  did  the  body  of  Harrison,  but  at  a  short 
distance  from  its  southern  end,  whose  windows  look 
on  the  fair  bosom  of  the  Potomac.  In  that  room  was 
a  concentration  of  genius,  talent,  might  of  character, 
weight  of  influence,  moral  power,  almost  oppressive  to 
the  mind.  Statesmen,  counsellors,  orators,  warriors, 
senators,  judges,  officers  of  high  degree,  embassadors 
from  various  nations,  all  assembled  to  do  homage  to 
Him  in  whose  hand  is  the  breath  of  them  all,  and  at 
whose  bidding,  ONE,  the  most  illustrious  among  them, 
having  yielded  up  his  high  trust,  lay  as  low  in  death 
as  the  humblest  of  his  race,  above  which,  in  the  course 
of  an  eventful  life,  he  had  been  so  far  elevated.  Here 
were  the  representatives  of  twenty  millions  of  people. 
I  seemed  to  behold  the  epitome  of  the  whole  nation.  I 
saw  men  who  had  chained  victory  to  their  march,  whe 
ther  on  the  "  mountain  wave,"  or  on  the  ensanguined 


78  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

plain,  amid  the  shock  of  contending  hosts.  I  beheld, 
too,  those  who  had  restored,  or  preserved  our  peace 
with  nations,  who  had  executed  treaties,  who  had 
directed  the  expansion  of  our  territory,  conducted  the 
affairs  of  State  through  dangerous  crises  and  threaten 
ing  exigencies,  who  were  even  now  struggling  with 
anxious  hearts  to  maintain  the  peace,  consolidate  the 
union,  and  perpetuate  the  glory  of  their  beloved  coun 
try.  And  these  men,  but  the  other  day  engaged  in 
fierce  debate  against  each  other,  were  now  mingling 
their  tears,  and  merging  their  differences  around  the 
bier  of  their  common  leader,  as  AMERICANS.  Here  Pa 
triotism  triumphed  over  Party ;  party,  whose  poisoned 
stream,  being  passed  through  the  alembic  of  death,  was 
turned  into  the  sweet  waters  of  life,  peace  and  friend 
ship.  Or,  to  change  the  mode  of  speech,  did  he  not 
descend  as  a  kind  and  gentle  angel,  to  heal,  while  he 
troubled  the  fountain  of  bitterness,  and  bid  a  nation 
bathe  in  the  renovated  flood?  There  was  CASS,  the 
great  rival  of  the  dead,  who  besought  Senators  to  bury 
all  dissensions  in  his  grave.  Those  Senators  had  unan 
imously  chosen  to  their  presiding  chair  the  successor 
of  the  Yice-President.  Thus  they  came  prepared  to 
drop  the  tear  of  sincerity  on  the  urn  of  the  departed, 
for  they  were  all  the  mourners  of  a  true  and  revered 
man.  FILOIORE  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  coffin,  "  full  of 
pregnant  thoughts,"  yet  calm,  and  trustful  in  that 
august  Providence  that  had  imposed  on  him  such  op 
pressive  responsibilities.  Near  the  southwestern  cor 
ner  of  the  room,  in  solemn  repose,  sat  General  SCOTT, 
who  in  that  presence  must  needs  have  meditated  on 
the  past,  on  their  common  perils  and  conflicts  during 


THE  FUNEEAL  OF  TAYLOK.  79 

a  bloody  war,  and,  after  reaping  the  ripest  laurels, 
stained,  alas  !  with  human  gore,  to  find  that  they  them 
selves  must  become  the  trophies  of  a  sterner  conqueror 
than  them  all !  The  military  and  naval  array  was 
exceedingly  brilliant ;  the  proud,  the  noble  and  mar 
tial  bearing  of  these  officers,  in  full  uniform,  might 
well  fascinate  a  young  and  enthusiastic  mind,  while 
the  honors  paid  even  to  the  dead  would  augment  the 
power  of  that  fascination.  A  future  President  may 
have  been  born  amid  the  strong  feelings  and  aspirations 
of  the  scene  and  the  assemblage.  The  spectator  of 
such  a  picture  would  feel  his  attention  strongly  drawn 
to  the  persons  of  the  members  of  the  late  Cabinet,  who 
sat  on  the  right  of  the  Vice-President.  Three  of  them, 
at  least,  are  men  of  large  stature  and  imposing  aspect 
— CLAYTON,  MEREDITH,  and  EWESTG — with  minds  to  cor 
respond.  Yet  they  seemed  to  look  more  like  massive 
shadows  than  the  men  \h&ywere}  to  participate,  though 
living,  in  the  loss  of  power  with  their  venerated  Chief 
nowr  deceased.  In  a  moment  Death  had  dissolved  the 
whole  charm  and  prestige  that  surrounded  these  men 
as  members  of  a  great  Cabinet,  while  he  could  not 
touch  the  imperial  genius  and  inherent  energies  with 
in.  Looking  at  them  as  politicians,  one  could  hardly 
refrain  from  considering  them  as  oppressed  with  a 
double  affliction.  Most  of  them  were  sincerely  at 
tached  to  General  Taylor. 

Of  the  twenty  pall-bearers,  bald  and  gray  heads 
were,  for  the  most  part,  the  portion.  One  or  two  old 
officers,  and  one  or  two  venerable  statesmen,  tottered 
with  age.  On  the  shoulders  of  Mr.  Custis  I  perceived 
the  ancient  Washington  epaulette,  which  he  has  worn 


80  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

on  great  occasions  for  fifty  years.  Though  less  ample 
than  the  modern  mountings,  it  has  covered  illustrious 
shoulders.  Although  the  coffin  of  the  President  was 

O 

plain  (but  rich),  there  were  some  emblematic  decora 
tions.  Besides  the  tasselings,  there  was  a  silver  min 
iature  eagle  adorning  the  head  of  the  coffin,  and  one 
on  each  side  of  its  upper  part.  Rich  broadcloth 
covered  the  exterior  mahogany  case,  in  which  was 
placed  the  interior  leaden  coffin,  this  style  being  pre 
ferred  by  the  family  to  the  metallic  case,  Egyptian 
shaped,  so  beautifully  made  in  New  York,  and  in  one 
of  which  was  deposited  the  remains  of  Mr.  Calhoun. 
Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  the  face  of 
the  President.  Every  feature  was  fair,  placid,  and 
expressive  of  the  temper  and  attributes  of  the  soul 
that  had  fled  from  its  perishable  tenement,  to  mingle 
with  other  spirits  in  the  mysterious  land.  I  looked, 
returned  to  my  seat,  and  went  and  looked  again ;  I 
wanted  to  linger  and  contemplate — while  decay  had 
not  yet  begun  to  obliterate  those  noble  lines  of  coun 
tenance — that  reflection,  that  mirror  of  the  soul,  in 
which  could  yet  be  seen  the  image  of  that  honesty,  that 
patriotism,  that  simplicity,  that  magnanimity,  which 
were  the  salient,  and  the  eminently  salutary  tpualities  of 
the  man.  All  confess  them  now,  however  men  in  the  heat 
of  passion  may  have  disparaged  and  even  calumniated 
him,  who  never  had  a  thought  but  to  serve  his  country 
to  the  best  of  his  powers,  and  to  the  last  of  his  life. 
Never,  perhaps,  in  the  history  of  our  country  was  there 
so  sudden  a  collapse  of  political  excitement,  never  so  per 
fect  a  softening  down  of  the  asperities  of  party  feeling. 
Colonel  Taylor,  who  walked  at  the  head  of  the 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  TAYLOR.  81 


mourners  (none  of  the  ladies  of  the  family  being  pres 
ent),  strikingly  resembles  his  brother,  though  having 
less  broad  features.  He  was  calm,  but  it  was  the  calm 
ness  of  deep  feeling,  for  he  had  only  one  such  brother 
to  lose.  Richard,  the  son  of  the  late  President,  un 
moved  by  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  a  national 
burial,  labored  with  manly  energy  to  suppress  the  grief, 
which,  awakened  and  sharpened  by  intense  filial  affec 
tion,  would  arise  in  his  bosom.  Colonel  Bliss,  who 
possesses  a  countenance  of  uncommon  amenity  and 
sweetness,  indicating,  too,  in  his  moral  constitution, 
tender  sensibilities,  demeaned  himself  with  great  dig 
nity.  How  strong  the  ties  that  bind  him  to  the  mem 
ory,  as  they  bound  him  to  the  person  of  his  beloved 
Chief !  During  the  funeral  service,  which  was  per 
formed  by  the  Rev.  Messrs.  Butler  and  Pyne,  a  choir 
of  singers  poured  their- strains  around  the  coffin  of  the 
dead,  enhancing  the  tenderness  of  the  scene,  and  inti 
mating  most  impressively  the  immense  superiority  of 
the  spiritual  and  divine  over  the  carnal,  the  visible,  the 
physical,  with  which  our  earthly  humanity  has  so  much 
to  do.  The  roll  of  the  drum,  the  loud  strains  of  the 
martial  trumpet,  the  clangor  of  cymbals,  were  not  heard 
within  that  now  consecrated  place.  Nought  of  instrumen 
tal  was  heard  but  the  soft,  sweet  music  of  a  seraphina 
near  the  coffin,  whose  notes  well  blended  with  living 
voices,  as  they  sang :  "  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven, 
saying,"  &c.  The  effect  was  greatly  heightened  by  the 
occasional  sound  of  the  distant  minute  gun,  rendering 
its  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  hero  who  lay  on  that 
bier.  There  is  to  me  something  inexpressibly  solemn 
in  that  sound  amid  such  associations. 

4* 


82  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

I  need  not  detail  to  you  the  ceremonies  abroad.  The 
papers  are  filled  with  descriptions  of  them.  But  who 
can  help  speaking  of  that  war-horse,  led  after  the  hearse 
by  Sweetzman,  the  faithful  Achates  of  the  General  in 
his  wars  ?  The  thousands  of  observers  wanted  at  least 
for  the  time  to  endow  old  Whitey  with  intelligence, 
that  he  might  be  sensible  of  his  loss.  Was  ever  animal 
placed  in  more  interesting  circumstances  ?  What  had 
Bucephalus  to  relate  that  could  surpass  the  achieve 
ments  of  this  warrior  animal  ?  There  was  the  saddle 
of  Palo  Alto  and  Kesaca,  with  its  holsters  and  inverted 
spurs,  forever  vacated  by  its  rider.  The  cannon  that 
roared  in  the  ears  of  Whitey  wras  a  familiar  sound,  and, 
therefore,  did  not  startle  him ;  the  loud  strains  of  the 
martial  bands  animated  rather  than  depressed  him, 
though  of  mournful  tenor.  We  wished  he  were  con 
scious  of  his  situation,  but  there  was  the  same  restless 
activity  about  him,  which  was  common  to  him  and 
his  master.  The  military  display  was  extensive  and 
brilliant,  giving  us  a  kind  of  type  of  the  immense  and 
invisible  military  power  of  this  country,  dormant,  in 
deed,  and  so  may  it  forever  remain,  as  the  elements  of  a 
storm  in  repose.  To  my  civil  and  unpracticed  eye  the 
numerous  companies  of  volunteers  from  this  city  and 
surrounding  cities,  composing  whole  regiments,  ap 
peared  to  march  and  perform  their  evolutions  with  an 
exactness  rivaling  the  U.  S.  regulars.  The  famous  fatal 
Light  Artillery  of  Duncan,  now  commanded  by  Sedg- 
wick,  attracted  much  attention. 

At  the  tomb,  the  highest  military  honors  were  paid ; 
and  the  form  of  the  deceased  President  was  committed 
to  its  rest  in  the  same  place  where,  nine  years  ago,  was 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  TAYLOR.  83 

deposited  the  body  of  Harrison.  Of  Cabinet  officers 
then  present,  might  now  be  seen  Messrs.  Webster,  Ew- 
iug,  and  Badger.  Here,  surrounded  by  a  multitude  of 
the  distinguished  dead,  among  them  CLINTON,  GERRY, 
BEOWN,  MACOMB,  RODGERS,  WIRT,  and  others,  not  long 
since  figuring  on  the  busy  stage  of  public  life,  was  our 
TAYLOR  laid  to  take  his  dreamless  rest,  that  knows  no 
waking  till  the  final  day. 
Of  Brutus  the  poet  has  said  : 

"  He  died  in  giving 

Rome  liberty,  but  left  a  deathless  lesson, 
A  name  -which  is  a  virtue,  and  a  soul, 
Which  multiplies  itself  through  all  time, 
When  wicked  men  wax  mighty,  and  a  State 
Turns  servile !" 

May  the  death  of  our  President,  since  his  life  could 
not,  be  sanctified  to  our  nation ! 


84  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


XIII, 

Snmmerfieifc,  Nemns,  Carnefc,  anb  Cornelias. 

IT  was  in  the  winter  of  1825,  that,  on  a  certain  day, 
I  received  an  invitation  from  Rev.  WILLIAM  NEVINS, 
then  pastor  of  the  first  Presbyterian  Church  in  Balti 
more,  to  dine  with  him  at  the  well-known  white  par 
sonage-house,  adjoining  the  church.  Arriving  at  the 
house,  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  meet  with  two  emi 
nent  ministers  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  the 
Rev.  SAMUEL  MERWLN,  then  preacher  in  charge  of  the 
Light  Street  Church,  and  the  Rev.  JOHN  SUMMEEFIBLD, 
who  was  spending  the  winter  in  Baltimore.  With  these 
gentlemen  I  had  formed  some  previous  acquaintance. 
I  was  happy  in  this  opportunity  of  perpetuating  it. 
The  amiable  wife  of  our  host  received  us  with  that 
Christian  kindness  of  heart  and  easy  grace  of  manner 
which  distinguished  her  even  in  a  refined  and  polished 
community,  while  her  husband,  evidently  in  the  enjoy 
ment  of  a  pleasant  home,  seemed  to  blend  his  own  de 
sires  with  hers  to  make  all  around  him  happy.  He 
had  been,  I  think,  about  five  years  pastor  of  the  church, 
and  the  excellent  effects  of  his  preaching  and  pastoral 
labors  were  already  visible,  even  in  circumstances  of 
peculiar  difficulty.  Surrounded  by  parishioners  of 
wealth  and  leading  influence,  he  had  made  such  full  and 
gratifying  proof  of  his  ministry,  that,  young  as  he  was, 
no  man  had  found  occasion  to  despise  his  youth.  lie 


SUMMERFIELD,    NEVINS,   LARNED,   AND   CORNELIUS.     85 

had  magnified  his  office,  where  to  maintain  it  was  dif 
ficult  and  honorable.  If  an  extraordinary  luxuriance 
of  imagination  was  perceptible  in  his  earlier  pulpit 
productions,  it  sprang  out  of  the  naturally  rich  mold 
of  a  mind  which,  in  its  progressive  action,  developed  a 
vigor,  the  evidence  of  which  was  seen  in  the  harmo 
nious  exercise  of  all  its  powers.  Between  Kevins  and 
Summerfield  there  was  a  congeniality  of  sentiment  and 
feeling,  in  the  depth  of  which  all  distinction  of  denomi 
nation  was  lost.  They  loved  as  brethren,  and  the 
young  Methodist  was  often  seen  in  the  pulpit  of  his 
Presbyterian  friend,  who  was  never  more  pleased  than 
when  he  saw  his  aisles  crowded  with  hearers  standing  to 
listen  to  the  simple  and  fascinating  eloquence  of  the  then 
most  popular  preacher  in  this  country.  Men  are  natu 
rally  inclined  to  imitate  those  whom  they  admire,  espe 
cially  if  they  are  in  the  same  line  of  life  with  the  objects 
of  their  admiration.  But  while  the  good  judgment  of 
Nevins  placed  him  above  that  temptation,  it  was  evi 
dent  that  his  style  of  preaching  was  in  a  measure  modi 
fied  by  his  communion  with  Summerfield.  There  was 
such  a  sweet  simplicity  in  the  latter,  both  as  to  matter 
and  manner,  as  well  in  public  as  in  private ;  his  faults 
were  so  few  and  faint,  and  his  talents  and  virtues  so 
many  and  manifest,  that  a  generous  and  admiring 
spirit  might  be  pardoned  for  the  enthusiasm  of  its  love 
for  one  so  lovely.  ISTor  would  it  be  a  crime  to  copy 
from  so  valuable  an  original.  If  there  were  scarcely 
any  faults  to  imitate,  the  danger  would  be  still  less. 
But  neither  of  these  three  men,  all  eminent  in  their 
sphere,  imitated  the  others.  They,  however,  drank  into 
each  other's  spirit,  and  profited  by  each  other's  experi- 


86  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

ence.  To  mingle  in  conversation  with  such  excellent 
servants  of  the  Lord,  to  witness  them  exchanging 
thoughts,  to  observe  the  influence  of  the  doctrines  which 

O  / 

they  publicly  taught  on  their  private  practice,  was  in 
deed  a  privilege  enjoyed  with  ardor  and  remembered 
with  gratitude.  The  thought  that  those  three  brethren 
are  now  before  the  throne,  not  looking  through  a  glass 
darkly,  but  seeing  face  to  face — that  they  have  prob 
ably  met  in  heaven — while  it  throws  a  pensive  mellow 
light  upon  the  earthly  scene  in  the  parsonage,  exhilar 
ates  our  anticipation  of  the  blessedness  of  heaven,  and 
admonishes  us  not  to  be  slothful,  but  followers  of 
them  who,  through  faith  and  patience,  inherit  the  prom 
ises. 

It  seems  difficult  to  realize  that  they  are  dead — all — 
all.  The  whole  picture  of  that  interview  is  vivid  to  the 
memory's  eye.  Herwin,  with  his  large  and  portly  form 
— his  air  of  dignity — his  soprano  voice.  Nevins,  smaller 
in  size,  but  combining  a  look  of  stability  and  earnest 
ness,  characteristic  of  the  man :  his  dark,  poetic  eye  re 
volving  with  brilliancy  in  its  orb,  the  expression  of  the 
eyes  being  more  intense  and  peculiar  from  a  cast  in 
one  of  them.  Summerfield,  slender  in  form,  of  a  "pallid 
face — alas !  too  truly  premonitory  of  what  all  but  him 
self  feared — an  eye  of  changeable  hue,  inclining  to  be 
languid  from  disease :  of  a  mild,  dark  blue,  when  the 
view  was  near,  but  at  a  distance,  especially  in  the  pul 
pit,  turning  still  darker,  so  as  to  be  called  black.  He 
was  cheerful,  but  it  required  some  effort.  Some  anec 
dotes,  in  his  usual  inimitable  style  of  narration,  fell 
from  him,  not  only  to  amuse  and  interest,  but  to  edify. 
Once  he  ventured  on  a  little  humor,  when  relating  a 


3UMMEKFIELD,   NEVIN8,   LARNED,   AND   CORNELIUS.     87 

recent  anecdote  connected  with  himself  and  his  brother 
Merwin,  in  reference  to  an  appointment  to  preach  a 
few  miles  in  the  country.  Summerfield's  fame  had 
drawn  together  an  immense  crowd  to  the  place  where 
notice  had  been  given  he  would  preach.  Not  being 
able  to  fulfill  his  appointment,  he  had  engaged  Mr. 
Merwin  to  supply  his  place :  a  dangerous  thing  even 
for  a  man  of  his  power  and  eloquence  to  attempt,  and 
an  instance  of  as  bold  and  disinterested  a  regard  to  a 
sense  of  duty  as  ean  any  where  be  found.  When  Mer 
win  appeared  on  the  stand  (it  was  in  the  open  air)  in 
his  ample  bodily  proportions,  his  very  appearance 
seemed  to  the  mass,  who  supposed  him  to  be  Summer- 
field,  to  be  a  fit  representative  of  the  greatness  of  his 
mind.  Nor  could  Merwin,  with  his  animating,  rousing 
eloquence,  have  possibly  fallen  below  the  expectations  of 
his  audience,  had  they  never-known  that  he  was  not  Sum- 
merfield.  The  latter,  surveying  their  respective  persons, 
of  such  antipodal  dimensions,  smiled  at  the  absurdity  of 
the  one  being  mistaken  for  the  other,  even  by  those  who 
knew  neither.  But  the  principal  pleasure  of  this  inter 
view  arose  from  the  fact  of  the  evident  and  earnest 
piety  of  those  three  men,  now  no  more  on  earth.  The 
duties  of  the  minister  of  Christ,  the  power  of  the  Gos 
pel,  the  glory  of  the  kingdom  of  Jesus,  were  among  the 
themes  of  social  converse.  At  that  time,  Summerfield, 
when  able  to  preach,  drew  crowds  to  listen  to  the 
divine  word  as  expounded  and  enforced  by  him.  He 
had  a  sweet  simplicity  of  manner,  that  charmed  his 
hearers,  and  did  so  gracefully  interweave  the  language 
of  Scripture  with  the  thread  of  his  discourse,  as  to  prove 
that  he  was  no  stranger  to  the  Book  of  Life.  Equally 


88  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

manifest  was  the  richness  of  his  Christian  experience. 
But  who  could  suppress  the  thought  that  his  stay  was 
but  transient  among  the  living — that  his  staff  was  in 
his  hand — that,  like  the  Israelite  at  the  Passover,  his 
posture  was  a  waiting  one ; — he  was  about  to  depart  for 
the  promised  land  ?  This  was  in  January.  In  the  fol 
lowing  June  he  took  possession  of  his  crown.  Dr. 
Nevins  survived  him  a  number  of  years,  but  died  early. 
And  Mr.  Merwin,  I  think,  followed  at  no  great  distance 
of  time.  They  are  gone !  It  is  a  great  thing  to  die. 
For  a  minister  of  God,  O  what  an  event !  One  of  the 
last  breathings  of  Kevins'  heart  was  for  the  missionary 
cause — for  a  perishing  world.  How  happy  must  the 
spirits  of  these  holy  men  now  be  "  with  Christ !"  Be 
it  ours,  dear  brethren  in  the  ministry,  to  aspire  to 
such  an  immortal  life.  "  They  that  be  wise  shall  shine 
as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament,  and  they  that 
turn  many  to  righteousness  as  the  stars  forever  and 
ever." 

Larned  and  Cornelius  were  kindred  spirits :  noble  in 
form,  of  commanding  personal  appearance :  each  had  an 
eye  which,  like  a  faithful  mirror,  reflected  the  inward  soul. 
They  were  formed  for  enterprise,  for  aggressive  move 
ment.  They  were  fitted  for  leaders,  and  being  inspired 
with  love  for  dying  men,  desired  to  "  spend  and  be 
spent  for  the  souls"  of  men.  They  were  both  filled 
with  admiration  of  the  character  and  achievements  of 
Paul,  and  seemed  to  desire  to  drink  deeply  of  his  spir 
it.  It  is  not  strange  they  should  be  deeply  interested 
in  each  other.  Cornelius  preceded  Larned  on  a  South 
ern  mission.  Larned  entered  into  his  labors,  with  what 
love,  with  what  earnestness,  with  what  eloquence,  the 


SUMMERFIELD,    NKVINS,    LAKNED,    AND   CORNELIUS.      89 

Church  knows.  I  have  been  favored  with  the  perusal 
of  a  letter  written  by  Cornelius  to  his  friend  after  he 
had  taken  possession  of  that  dangerous  post  at  New 
Orleans,  where,  in  the  prime  of  life  and  in  the  bloom 
of  his  intellectual  promise,  he  fell  to  rise  no  more  in 
this  hemisphere,  but  we  trust  to  shine  in  another  with 
the  brightness  of  the  firmament.  This  letter  is  the  ef 
fusion  of  private  friendship,  and  of  course  not  intended 
for  the  public  eye — for  that  reason  the  more  true,  un 
studied,  and  open-hearted.  It  is  dated  at  Salem,  Octo 
ber  11,  1819,  thirty-two  years  ago,  yet  how  do  its 
thoughts  breathe,  its  spirit  kindle,  its  words  burn,  as 
if  they  were  now  holding  communion  with  us !  He 
addresses  Larned  as  his  "  dear  and  precious  brother :" 
dear  to  him  as  he  saw  the  image  of  Christ  in  him,  for 
as  "  unto  us,  who  believe,  he  is  precious,"  so  are  all  the 
friends  and  servants  of  Christ. 

"  My  heart  almost  bleeds,"  he  writes,  "  to  think  how 
you  have  been  neglected  by  one  who  loves  you,  and 
prays  for  you  with  an  affection  and  an  interest  utterly 
inexpressible.  Why,  then,  you  will  ask  with  great 
propriety,  have  I  delayed  so  long  to  write  you  even  a 
line  ?  My  dear  brother  Larned,  forgive  me.  I  have 
not  shown,  I  acknowledge,  the  attention  which  you,  as 
the  best  of  friends,  had  a  right  to  expect  while  sojourn 
ing  in  a  distant  and  sickly  land.  It  would  be  impos 
sible  to  tell  you  the  anxiety  which  I  have  habitually 
felt  for  your  welfare  and  success,  and  more  especially 
since  we  have  received  intelligence  that  once  more  the 
pestilence  has  visited  that  section  of  the  country  in 
which  you  are  placed. 


90  GLEANINGS  AND   GROUPINGS. 

"Dear  brother,  I  have  often  involuntarily  exclaimed, 
is  Tie  alive  ?  Or,  may  God  have  called  him  from  his 
labors,  and  taken  him  to  his  everlasting  rest  ?  And 
while  I  am  writing,  I  know  not  where  you  are,  nor  un 
der  what  circumstances  you  may  be  placed.  God  Al 
mighty  preserve  you,  my  dear  friend,  is  my  unceasing 
prayer.  The  Great  Head  of  the  Church  knows  how  to 
dispose  of  his  ministers.  He  has  made  you  what  you 
are,  and  when  you  have  finished  the  work  to  which 
has  appointed  you,  he  will  call  you  to  your  reward  o: 
high.  Will  it  afford  you  one  comfort  to  know  that  you 
have  friends,  who  often  remember  you  before  God? 
Will  it  be  any  source  of  consolation,  laboring  as  you 
do  far  from  ministerial  brethren,  and  deprived  of  many 
of  the  sweet  enjoyments  of  Christian  communion,  to 
know  that  in  a  weekly  prayer-meeting  held  in  this 
place  by  the  ministers,  '  Brother  Lamed  and  his  great 
work'  is  a  chief  subject  of  prayer  ?  Then  be  assured,  I 
beseech  you,  notwithstanding  his  neglect  in  writing, 
that  your  old  friend  Cornelius  is,  what  he  ever  was, 
yours,  with  unceasing  and  growing  affection.  I  write 
this  short  letter  merely  as  an  introduction  to  a  longer 
one,  which  I  shall  commence  this  week,  and  in  which 
I  intend  to  make  you  acquainted  with  some  of  the 
leading  incidents  of  my  course  since  I  saw  you  last. 
Meanwhile,  let  me  acknowledge  your  short  letter  of 
July  last,  and  entreat  you,  if  I  may  not  have  forfeited 
already  your  friendship,  that  you  will  relieve  the  anx 
ious  mind  of  one  wrho  is  as  true  a  friend  in  his  heart 
as  you  have  on  earth.  Be  careful  of  your  health  and 
life.  Bush  not  unnecessarily  into  danger,  and  ex 
pose  not  to  the  hazard  of  destruction  a  talent  which, 


THE  SHADES  OF  MOUNT  VERNON.          91 

while  you  live,  is   one  of  the  dearest  hopes  of  the 
Church.  Ab  imo  pectore,* 

"Yours, 

CORNELIUS." 


Such  was  the  warm-hearted  effusion  of  this  devoted 
servant  of  the  Lord,  who,  though  he  survived  his  friend 
many  years,  yet  may  be  said  to  have  died  young. 


XIY, 
&[)e  Sljabes  of  iJlount  bernon. 

THERE  is  a  solemn  grandeur  in  the  scene,  that  instant 
ly  impresses  itself  on  the  minds  of  all  who  visit  it.  If 
you  pass  down  the  Potomac  in  a  steamer,  you  behold 
under  a  sort  of  fascination  the  lofty  mansion  of  the  Fa 
ther  of  his  Country,  crowning  a  height  on  the  west  side 
of  the  river,  and  nothing  can  take  off  the  gaze  so  long 
as  there  is  any  thing  visible.  It  is  a  splendid  view  in 
summer  or  autumn,  and  is  suggestive  of  great  trains  of 
thought.  Sometimes,  while  the  eye  is  intently  fixed  on 
the  scene,  and  the  mind  is  calling  up  the  numerous  as 
sociations  of  the  place,  suddenly  the  ear  is  greeted  with 
strains  of  solemn  music — perhaps  from  a  band  on  board 
— so  soft,  so  pure,  so  pensive,  so  perfectly  congenial 
with  those  emotions  in  which  the  soul  is  at  the  moment 
luxuriating,  that  they  seem  to  sound  the  lowest  depths 
of  the  inward  man,  and  task  the  sensibilities  to  their 
utmost  capacity. 

*  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 


92  GLEANINGS   AND  GROUPINGS. 

The  tomb  itself  being  invisible  from  the  river,  the 
imagination  is  in  a  measure  left  to  its  own  conjectures 
and  wonderings,  both  as  to  the  precise  spot  where  the 
ashes  of  the  illustrious  dead  repose,  and  as  to  the  prob 
able  effect  that  would  be  produced  on  the  mind  by 
standing  on  that  spot.  We  are  sufficiently  near,  how 
ever,  to  be  strongly  affected  with  the  genius  loci ;  to 
feel  the  energetic  influences  of  that  great  example  trans 
mitted  by  him  who  dwelt  there,  and  who,  though  "first 
in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  coun 
trymen,"  preferred  the  domestic  felicity  imbosomed  in 
that  mansion  to  the  splendors  of  the  battle-field,  the 
civic  honors  of  the  State,  or  even  the  hearty  applause 
of  his  admiring  countrymen. 

In  such  solid  and  enduring  virtues  was  the  essence 
of  his  character  laid,  that  we  can  conceive  of  no  emer 
gency  arising  in  the  course  of  his  earthly  existence,  no 
phasis  of  his  personal  history,  in  which,  with  a  genius, 
a  temper,  and  a  talent  like  his,  he  would  not  have  been 
equal  to  any  task  within  the  limit  of  human  achieve 
ment.  The  man,  then,  who  lived  in  that  house,  and 
who  lies  in  yonder  tomb,  was  the  embodiment  of  pa 
triotism  in  its  loftiest  moods ;  of  heroism  in  its  noblest 
developments ;  of  a  serene  and  practical  philosophy  that 
meditated  the  improvement  of  mankind,  and  instead  of 
wasting  itself  in  the  indulgence  of  evanescent  visions, 
seized  at  once  the  realities  of  things,  and  succeeded  in 
elevating  the  world's  standard  of  them. 

Classic  fable  tells  us  of  the  statue  of  a  god  that  fell 
from  heaven,  and  immediately  became  the  object  of  de 
vout  and  enthusiastic  worship.  Heaven  sent  us  the 
living  form  of  one  who  was  greater  than  any  of  the  dei- 


THE  SHADES  OF  MOUNT  VEKNON.          93 

fied  heroes  of  antiquity ;  and  if  Patriotism  had  desired 
a  statue  of  itself,  it  would  have  found  a  model  in  the 
person  of  Washington.  But  what  are  statues  compared 
with  those  ideas — of  inherent  grandeur — that  possess 
the  mind  with  a  sort  of  regal  authority,  claiming,  like 
heavenly  truth,  the  homage  of  the  human  understand 
ing — ideas  suggested  by  a  view  of  the  shades  of  Mount 
Vernon ! 

The  genius  of  Byron,  while  beholding  with  intense 
perception  the  elements  and  achievements  of  departed 
greatness,  exclaims  of  these  intellectual  and  civic  archi 
tects  : 

"  A  tomb  is  theirs  on  every  page, 
An  epitaph  on  every  tongue ; 
The  present  hours,  the  future  age, 
For  them  roll  on,  to  them  belong." 

And  justly  might  he  have  individualized  Washington 
in  those  additional  lines : 

"  Where  shall  they  turn  to  mourn  thee  less  ? 

When  cease  to  hear  thy  cherished  name  ? 
Time  cannot  teach  forgetfulness, 

While  grief's  full  heart  is  fed  by  fame." 

We  may  suppose  every  variety  of  character  passing 
in  the  daily  steamer  the  shades  of  Mount  Yernon.  The 
statesman  looks  on  that  silent,  solitary  grove,  where 
sleeps  the  founder  of  the  model  republic,  and  says  to 
himself,  Why  need  we  a  beau  IDEAL,  when  we  have  a 
~beau  REAL  in  yonder  grove  ?  The  relics  that  there  re 
cline  in  their  majestic  sleep,  were  animated  by  a  more 
truly  imperial  spirit  than  was  ever  enthroned  in  the 
crowned  heads  of  earth ;  a  spirit  that  reigned  by  divine 
prerogative  over  subject  minds  ;  a  spirit  whose  divine 


94  GLEANINGS   AND  GROUPINGS. 


right  is  acknowledged  by  millions  of  free-born  men, 
whose  regard  for  mere  king-craft  or  priest-craft  is  as  slen 
der  as  their  estimation  of  an  enlightened  civil  govern 
ment  and  their  reverence  for  the  sacred  institutions  of 
God  are  profound ;  a  spirit  that  achieved  and  held  its 
sway,  not  by  dint  of  the  sword,  but  by  a  scepter,  the 
materials  of  which,  like  the  symbol  rods  of  our  republic, 
were  bound  together  by  the  bands  'of  his  own  peerless 
judgment,  and  composed  of  qualities  as  true  to  every 
crisis  as  they  were  sovereign  and  efficient  in  their  oper 
ation.  That  is  the  way  to  rule  men — if  we  must  have 
the  term,  which  is  ill  fitted  to  republican  institutions — 
not  by  dungeons,  towers,  and  inquisitions,  State 
trials,  and  star-chambers,  but  by  giving  them  light, 
liberty,  free  investigation,  and  self-government.  Wash 
ington  was,  in  his  own  person,  and  with  all  the  might 
of  his  mind,  a  model  of  self-government,  as  he  should 
be  who  would  found  a  self-governing  empire. 

Amid  all  her  magnificent  bequests,  Home  could  never 
endow  the  world  with  the  idea  of  POPULUS  IMPERATOB. 
To  realize  that  idea,  Washington,  with  a  grace  and 
grandeur  unknown  to  an  Alexander  or  Csesar,  refused 
a  kingly  crown,  and  retired  to  the  shades  of  Mount  Ver- 
non.  Twice  he  left  those  shades  in  obedience  to  the 
mandates  of  the  sovereign  people — reluctantly  emerg 
ing  from  them,  eagerly  retreating  into  them.  He  con 
sidered  himself  the  public  servant  of  the  popular  sov 
ereignty.  So  is  every  President ;  and  so  should  he  and 
all  governmental  officers  be  regarded,  with  all  due  kind 
ness  and  respect  to  their  persons  and  offices.  Away, 
then,  with  that  phraseology  so  often  heard  in  conversa 
tion  and  in  the  pulpit — "Our  rulers."  ISTo!  we,  the 


THE  SHADES  OF  MOUNT  VKRNON.          95 

people,  are  the  rulers !  Magistrates,  senators,  repre 
sentatives,  judges,  are  the  instruments  of  our  sover 
eignty.  But  with  us  is  the  power,  and  a  fearful  trust 
it  is. 

The  man  of  military  aspirations  or  the  laureled  war 
rior  passes  Mount  Yernon,  and  receives  a  lesson  which 
neither  Charles  Y.  nor  even  Cincinnatus  could  teach 
him.  "  'Twere  worth  ambition"  to  be  the  lord  of  that 
mansion,  the  hermit  of  those  shades,  or  the  tenant  of 
that  sepulcher,  like  Washington.  But  who  ever  came 
even  within  the  penumbra  of  that  orb  ?  Napoleon  had 
as  deep  a  solitude,  but  mortification  and  remorse  were 
the  ministering  demons  that  haunted  his  exile  and  de 
nied  him  repose.  What  Napoleon  hated,  Washington 
loved — retirement.  The  one  could  not,  though  he  would, 
have  left  that  retirement  to  rush  into  the  arena  of  strife, 
tumult,  and  bloodshed.  The  other  would  not,  though 
he  could,  have  left  his  retirement  to  be  a  kind  of  per 
petual  dictator,  the  energy  of  whose  moral  power  was 
so  complete  as  to  disdain  the  aid  of  physical  force. 
The  stern  and  sanguinary  maxim,  inter  arma  silent  le 
ges*,  had  no  sway  where  his  influence  was  felt.  It  was 
his  privilege  and  glory  to  reverse  it :  to  be  "  first  in 
peace ;"  to  proclaim,  Cedant  arma  togce.^  His  victories 
in  peace  surpassed  in  brilliancy  his  victories  in  war. 
Let  military  men  ponder  it,  and  be  wise. 

Next  we  may  suppose  the  POET  gliding  over  the  bo 
som  of  the  Potomac,  whose  sparkling  waters  gently 
bathe  the  shores  of  Mount  Yernon,  as  if  their  very  glad 
ness  was  restrained  by  the  spirit  of  reverence  for  the 

*  In  the  midst  of  arms  the  laws  are  silent, 
f  Let  the  military  bow  to  the  civil  authority. 


96  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

place.  He  might  be  charmed  with  the  summer  scenery 
around  him :  pleasing  ideas  would  be  awakened  as  he 
contemplated  the  serenity  of  the  sky,  the  flowing  waters, 
the  silvan  forests  of  Virginia,  and  the  brilliant  gardens 
of  Mount  Yernon,  all  undisturbed  by  the  din  and  hum 
of  artificial  life,  but  these  would,  not  even  to  the  most 
excitable  imagination,  be  the  chief  attractive  features  of 
the  place.  The  elements  of  natural  beauty  and  sublimi 
ty  are  distributed  through  the  wide  world ;  there  is  but 
one  Mount  Yernon. 

Let  us  suppose  Coleridge,  the  philosophical  poet,  to 
have  made  a  pilgrimage,  while  yet  a  traveler  on  earth, 
to  the  tomb  of  Washington.  .That  imagination,  which 
took  fire  in  the  vale  of  Chamouny,  as  it  gazed  with 
throbbing  intensity  on  the  Alpine  glaciers  above,  and 
blazed  up  to  the  throne  of  the  Eternal  with  a  more  than 
mortal  brilliancy  and  grandeur,  would  have  trembled 
under  the  weight  of  its  own  inspirations,  as  in  an  ecsta 
sy  of  wonder  and  delight  it  approached  the  urn  of  "Wash 
ington.  The  voices  of  Nature,  however  rich  their  music 
to  his  ear,  would  have  been  silent,  while  the  hero  spake, 
or  while  the  poet  imagined  all  just  and  natural  things 
as  connected  with  the  vision  before  him.  He  would 
dwell  upon  the  majestic  form  of  the  entombed  hero ; 
each  regal  feature,  stamped  by  the  hand  of  heaven  on 
that  brow  and  face,  would  pass  under  his  pencil ;  and 
then  the  soul  of  patriotism  that  lived  in  him,  and  which 
is  not  dead,  but  has  entered  other  living  forms,  and  may 
this  moment  be  vital  in  an  Austrian  prison,  or  an  Ital 
ian  dungeon,  or  even  in  the  Siberian  desert,  would 
quicken  the  strokes  of  that  pencil :  the  sublimity  of  an 
empire  founded  on  an  acknowledgment  of  the  rights  of 


THE  SHADES  OF  MOUKT  VEKNON.          97 

man,  and  his  ability  to  judge  for  himself,  arid  to  govern 
himself,  attaching  itself  to  the  chief  actor  in  the  heroic 
drama,  and  making  him  sublime  beyond  the  lot  of  man, 
would  fill  the  imagination  of  the  moral  painter.  Then, 
if  his  eye  glanced  from  the  tomb  to  the  mansion,  he 
would  be  struck  with  the  fact  how  intensely  that  man 
of  might  and  moral  sublimity  relished  the  calm  pleas 
ures  of  domestic  life ;  how  triumphantly  he  came  forth 
out  of  a  bloody  contest,  victorious  over  his  foes,  yet  un- 
seduced  by  the  blandishments  of  military  glory ;  how 
safely  he  passed  the  severer  crucible  of  the  first  peace 
and  prosperity  of  an  inchoate  State,  and  then  hastened 
to  enjoy  that  for  \vhich  he  had  proved  himself  eminently 
qualified — the  purity  and  dignity  of  private  life.  The 
poet  would  not  look  to  that  faded  and  decaying  mansion 
for  a  specimen  of  elegant  and  impressive  architecture, 
but  his  imagination  would  dress  it  in  fair  and  sober 
colors,  not  inharmonious  with  the  whole  scene  around. 

Then  there  is  the  shrubbery  which  he  planted  in  his 
own  garden,  the  lemon-trees  which  he  set  out,  and 
many  beautiful  forms  and  products  of  nature  that  began 
to  thrive  under  his  agency.  Emerge  from  the  garden — 
tread  the  grove — go  forth  into  the  midst  of  the  cultivated 
acres.  You  will  perceive  the  "  smell  of  a  field  which 
the  Lord  hath  blessed."  And  the  farmer  in  cultivating 
that  field  was  as  systematic  as  the  warrior  in  planning 
a  campaign,  or  the  statesman  in  framing  a  constitution. 

These,  it  must  be  confessed,  are  all  impressive  things ; 
topics  of  general  and  commanding  interest  to  all  who 
sympathize  with  the  hopes  of  humanity,  and  rejoice  in 
its  elevation  above  inferior  things.  They  are  worthy  to 
be  the  sources  of  impulses  to  the  noblest  genius. 

5 


98  GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

I  have  often  traversed  these  walks,  circumambulating 
the  area  of  this  august  spot  of  earth,  but  it  cannot,  in 
the  usual  sense  of  the  word,  become  familiar.  There 
is  something  in  the  spirit  of  the  place  that  repels  famil 
iarity.  The  whole  place  seems  a  natural  temple  for 
the  exercise  of  VENERATION,  and  you  wish  to  be  a  soli 
tary  worshiper  at  that  shrine.  You  want  no  one  to 
speak  in  your  ear,  " how  glorious  was  Washington" 
any  more  than  you  wish  to  hear  some  external  voice 
praising  the  virtues  of  a  dear  friend  over  whose  ashes 
you  stand  weeping.  The  mind  would  be  alone  at  this 
tomb.  It  is  even  offended  at  the  sight  of  an  occasional 
monument  of  a  relative  near  the  sepulcher  of  the  illus 
trious  dead,  though  by  perfect  right  it  is  there,  for  it 
knows  that  Washington  is  "  alone  in  his  glory,"  and  as 
a  public  man  is  viewed  apart  from  all  private  relations. 
So  absorbed  do  we  become  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
character  of  the  man,  that  we  forget  all  around  us  is 
private  property,  even  the  tomb  and  the  ashes  it  con 
tains.  We  consent  that  the  sarcophagus  of  Martha 
Washington  should  lie  in  equal  apparent  honor  by  the 
side  of  that  of  the  hero,  because  he  loved,  cherished,  and 
honored  her  in  life  ;  in  that  life  in  which  God  made 
them  one,  and  in  death  they  must  not  be  divided. 
Moreover,  she  was  to  him  as  a  ministering  angel  in  the 
darkest  period  of  the  Revolution.  But  further  than  this 
the  arrangers  of  the  dead  could  not  go. 

On  his  marble  coffin  is  stamped  the  American  Eagle 
and  the  name — WASHINGTON.  He  needs  no  inscription. 
Not  words,  but  thoughts,  are  to  honor  him  who  set  the 
world  on  thinking.  A  man  came  from  the  borders  of 
Persia,  one  who  had  studied  history,  institutions,  cus 


THE  SHADES  OF  MOUNT  VKKNON. 


toins,  men  ;  he  had  stood  on  the  summit  of  Mount  Ara 
rat,  where  the  ark  rested  after  the  flood ;  on  Mount 
Sinai,  whence  the  lightnings  of  Jehovah  gleamed  in 
terror  on  the  camp  of  Israel ;  he  had  visited  various 
spots  of  earth  on  which  the  deeds  of  men  had  conferred 
immortality ;  but  never  had  he  felt  such  emotions  rush 
ing  through  him  as  when  he  drew  near  the  tomb  of 
Washington,  and  stood  in  silent  contemplation  of  the 
wonders  associated  with  his  name.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  now  reached  the  climax  of  human  interest. 
One  is  inclined  to  ask,  "What  would  be  the  words  of 
such  a  man  as  Chateaubriand  on  entering  these  shades  ? 
Full  of  observation,  of  a  warm  imagination,  and  of  a 
mystic  faith ;  deeply  sensible  to  the  grand  in  nature, 
the  sublime  in  morals,  and  the  heroic  in  every  thing, 
what  would  he  say  ?  With  all  his  devotion  to  royalty, 
he  must  say,  This  was  a  child  of  Providence  ;  a  predes 
tined  actor  in  a  mighty  drama  that  is  arresting  the  at 
tention  of  the  world.  Boundless  are  the  solitudes  of 
America !  boundless  the  population  that  is  destined  to 
fill  them.  His  imagination  kindled,  his  heart  expanded, 
when  nearly  "  sixty  years  since"  he  beheld  our  "  West 
ern  wilds,"  and  his  eye  ran  along  the  mighty  current  of 
the  father  of  waters.  But  it  was  rather  in  admiration 
of  the  natural  features  of  the  scenery,  so  far  transcend 
ing  the  miniatures  of  Europe,  than  of  the  opening  grand 
eur  of  the  mighty  republic,  of  which  those  features  may 
be  said  to  be  the  splendid  symbols.  What  might  be 
called  the  romance  of  Chateaubriand's  mind  would  be 
reality  here.  Nor  need  his  noble  spirit  have  sacrificed 
one  iota  of  its  loyalty,  one  link  of  that  chain  of  affection 
which  bound  him  to  the  throne  of  the  power  he  chose 


100  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

to  serve,  when  it  payed  its  just  tribute  to  the  memory  of 
him  whom  God  raised  up  for  the  stupendous  work  which 
he  accomplished  through  him. 

The  French  philosopher  was  a  cordial  believer  in  the 
doctrine  of  an  ever-active  Providence.  He 'might  have 
studied  the  sublime  lessons  presented  to  him  amid  the 
shades  of  Mount  Vernon.  He  professed  to  adore  Christi 
anity.  He  earnestly  studied  its  genius,  if  not  its  spirit 
uality.  Here  we  have  Christianity,  not  arrayed  in  gor 
geous  apparel,  but  clothed  in  the  robes  of  simplicity  and 
truth ;  not  seeking  an  external  alliance  with  principali 
ties  and  powers,  but  aiming  to  rule  the  hearts  of  the 
people ;  not  so  much  the  object  of  romantic  contempla 
tion,  as  the  inward  life  of  the  intellect  and  the  heart ; 
not  an  humble  and  dependent  beneficiary  of  the  treasury 
of  the  State,  but  the  dignified  recipient  of  the  voluntary 
gifts  of  freeborn  Christians.  To  all  this  the  policy  of 
Washington  tended.  On  such  results  was  his  heart 
fixed,  and  while  that  mighty  heart  lies  still  and  passion 
less  in  its  urn,  millions  are  throbbing  with  the  impulses 
it  imparted  to  them.  And  with  every  revolving  year 
grows  stronger  the  attraction  that  draws  minds  from 
the  ends  of  the  earth  to  the  SHADES  OF  MOUNT  YEKNON. 

"  Though  years  elapse, 

They  but  augment  the  deep  and  sweeping  thoughts 
Which  overpower  all  others,  and  conduct 
The  world  at  last  to  freedom." 


THE    LAST   DAT   OF   SUMMER.  101 


XV, 
®l)e  £ast  EDaB  of  Summer. 

August  31,  1850. 

Tins  day  closes  the  summer  of  1850.  If  the  seasons 
have  a  voice  to  speak,  then  those  for  whose  benefit 
they  were  created  should  have  an  ear  to  hear.  There 
is  a  spirit  in  them  which  communes  with  the  spirit  of 
man.  There  is  a  divine  philosophy  in  them  fitted  to 
engage  the  purest  intellect;  a  beauty,  a  wisdom,  a 
secret  power,  testifying  that  they  are  of  God.  The  life 
of  man  is  called  a  season,  because  its  periods  bear  an 
analogy  to  those  of  the  revolving  year.  Youth  is  its 
spring:  when  the  "tender  leaves  of  hope"  are  put 
forth,  its  blossoms  glow  with  peculiar  beauty  and  fresh 
ness,  while  within  each  opening  bud  is  embraced  the 
germ  of  the  future.  "  The  child  is  father  to  the  man." 
Youth  is  beautiful  as  the  spring,  and  as  evanescent, 
too.  "Man  cometh  forth  like  a  flower,  and  is  cut 
down."  Even  the  "  goodliness"  of  young  humanity  is 
as  the  "flower  of  the  field."  But  the  flower  dies  to 
live.  The  reproductive  principle  is  there,  and  so  of 
man.  He  "  dieth  and  wasteth  away ;  yea,  man  giveth 
up  the  ghost,  and  where  is  he  ?"  Not  in  the  dark  and 
fabled  region  of  a  gloomy  non-existence,  that  dreamy 
realm  to  which  atheism  and  infidelity  fly  for  relief  from 
the  pressure  of  the  invisible  government  of  God,  but  in 
the  spirit-land.  The  soul  has  returned  to  God ! 

Hear  the  testimony  of  Lord  Byron  while  yet  in  the 


102  GLEANINGS  AND   GROUPINGS. 

heyday  of  youth ;  admired,  courted,  intoxicated  with 
human  applause,  and  at  times  scoffing  at  the  claims  of 
Christianity.  "  Of  the  immortality  of  the  soul  it  ap 
pears  to  me  there  can  be  but  little  doubt.  If  we  attend 
for  a  moment  to  the  action  of  mind,  it  is  in  perpetual 
activity.  I  used  to  doubt  it,  but  reflection  has  taught 
me  better.  It  also  acts  so  very  independent  of  the 
body — in  dreams,  for  instance.  *  *  *  I  have  often 
been  inclined  to  materialism  in  philosophy,  but  could 
never  bear  its  introduction  into  Christianity,  which  ap 
pears  to  me  essentially  founded  on  the  soul.  For  this 
reason,  Priestley's  materialism  always  struck  me  as 
deadly.  Believe  the  resurrection  of  the  body  if  you 
will,  but  not  without  the  soul." 

Spring  passes,  by  an  insensible  gradation,  into  sum 
mer.  Thus  does  youth  pass  into  manhood.  This  period 
is  called  the  meridian  of  life.  How  soon  we  reach  it ! 
All  after  that  is  decline.  Yet  who  is  willing  to  confess 
to  himself  that  he  is  in  the  decline  of  life  ?  "When  the 
limbs  are  strong,  the  muscles  elastic,  the  nerves  firm, 
the  cheek  full  and  rosy,  the  eyes  sparkling  with  bright 
ness,  the  spirits  buoyant,  and  bent  on  some  aggressive 
movement,  who  shall  whisper  that  the  pale  king  is 
near  ?  Yet  "  thou  destroyest  the  hope  of  man."  He 
is  but  the  shadow  of  what  he  shall  be  seen  to  be  in 
other  climes,  in  that  other  state  of  being  but  dimly  re 
vealed,  and,  therefore,  invested  with  a  sublimity  and 
solemnity  that  forbid  all  trifling.  Man's  life  is,  in  fact, 
his  eternity.  It  stamps  his  character,  shapes  his  des 
tiny,  molds  his  soul  into  the  perpetual  image  of  the 
beautiful  or  the  deformed,  4he  lovely  or  the  hateful, 
which  is  to  constitute  its  welcome  to  the  regions  of 


THE   LAST   DAT   OF   SUMMER.  103 

light  and  love,  or  its  banishment  to  those  of  darkness 
and  sorrow. 

To  many  this  has  been  a  joyous  summer.  The  pop 
ulation  of  the  land  has  been  afloat.  What  a  multitude 
have  been  on  the  wing !  How  have  they  in  crowds 
been  chasing  the  phantom  pleasure  !  Many  have  in 
vain  been  hunting  for  health.  Multitudes  have  fallen 
beneath  the  stroke  of  death.  Among  them,  in  sadness 
and  sorrow,  we  have  to  record  the  name  of  our  honored 
President,  who,  in  the  fullness  of  his  fame  and  the 
ripeness  of  an  eventful  life,  has  been  called  away  from 
the  busy  scenes  of  earth  to  the  settled  realities  of  the 
eternal  state.  How  sternly  impartial,  how  severely 
certain  is  death !  England's  great  leading  statesman, 
too,  was  suddenly  snatched  away  in  the  same  month, 
rendering  July,  always  an  eventful  month,  memorable 
in  this  semi-centennial  year.  What  hopes  by  these 
two  events  alone  were  crushed — what  prospects  blasted 
— what  changes  superinduced — what  a  sudden  turn 
given  to  the  current  of  men's  reflections,  and  even  to 
the  tide  of  a  nation's  affairs,  ever  under  the  watchful 
eyes  of  Him,  who  sits  the  enthroned  and  Omnipotent 
Ruler  over  all ! 

Neither  as  a  nation  nor  as  individuals  is  it  for  us  to 
predict  the  future ;  but  happy  shall  we  be  if,  as  the 
seasons  advance  in  swift  and  solemn  succession,  we  rev 
erently  observe  and  conscientiously  obey  the  laws  an 
nexed  to  our  being ;  follow  the  guidance  of  the  Holy 
and  True,  and  live  for  his  glory  who  hath  made  all 
things  for  himself. 

What  mighty  processes  in  nature  have  been  going 
on,  as  the  fervid  sun  of  summer  shone,  or  the  burdened 


104  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

clouds  poured  out  their  rich  treasures  on  the  earth  ! 
Nor  less  have  there  been  secret  elaborations  in  the 
moral  world.  There  is  a  sublimity  in  the  operation  of 
moral  causes,  even  surpassing  those  developments  we 
see  in  the  material  works  of  God.  The  trains  are  lay 
ing  which,  in  their  ultimate  results,  will  fill  the  minds 
of  men  with  astonishment,  if  they  do  not  startle  the 
repose  of  nations.  When  we  look  at  one  of  the  various 
theaters  of  action  before  us — our  National  Congress — 
did  it  ever  know  such  a  session,  such  a  summer  ?  It  is 
not  uncommon  for  great  men,  in  some  sense,  to  control 
events  by  the  energy  and  decision  of  their  wills.  But 
the  resistless  events  of  the  year  seem  rather  to  have 
controlled  the  wills  of  great  and  small.  They  have 
been  like  those  so  graphically  described  by  a  master 
pen  as  at  sea  in  a  storm,  reeling  with  the  motion  of  the 
ship,  and  "  at  their  wifs  end." 

The  lovers  of  pleasure  have  been  abroad  this  summer 
in  great  numbers  to  feast  their  senses  on  the  beauties  of 
nature,  and  luxuriate  amid  romantic  solitudes,  by  cool 
fountains,  or  on  the  margin  of  the  great  sea.  Your  bodies 
have  been  refreshed,  your  spirits  reinvigorated.  Have 
your  minds  been  improved,  or  your  hearts  reformed  ? 
u  The  mind  is  its  own  place."  We  may  change  our  skies, 
but  keep  our  bad  tempers.  The  living  spring  of  happiness 
is  within.  The  stream  from  that  fountain  may  be  fed 
and  enlarged  by  other  streams,  but  it  must  rise  in  the 
heart.  The  same  Byron  quoted  above,  writing  to  a 
friend  from  Switzerland,  said :  "I  am  a  lover  of  nature, 
and  an  admirer  of  beauty.  I  can  bear  fatigue,  and 
welcome  privation,  and  have  seen  some  of  the  noblest 
views  in  the  world.  But  in  all  this  the  recollection  of 


THE   LAST    DAY    OF    SUMMER.  105 

bitterness,  and  more  especially  of  recent  and  home  des 
olation,  which  must  accompany  me  through  life,  have 
preyed  upon  me  here;  and  neither  the  music  of  the 
shepherd,  the  crashing  of  the  avalanche,  nor  the  tor 
rent,  the  mountain,  the  glacier,  the  forest,  nor  the  cloud, 
have  for  one  moment  lightened  the  weight  upon  my 
heart,  nor  enabled  me  to  lose  my  own  wretched  identity 
in  the  majesty,  and  the  power,  and  the  glory  around, 
above,  and  beneath  me."  *  *  "  My  existence  is  a 
dreamy  void." 

He  died  in  the  summer  of  his  life,  in  the  very  merid 
ian  of  his  days,  that  should  have  been  consecrated  to 
Him  who  bestows  the  immortal  gift  of  genius  on  a 
chosen  few  of  the  millions  of  our  race.  Oh !  had  he 
drank  at  the  fountain  of  living  waters ! 

Not  he  alone,  but  multitudes  of  sinners,  the  gay,  the 
thoughtless,  the  profane,  the  impious  rejecters  of  the 
love  of  Jesus,  will,  having  sported  away  the  brief  day 
of  their  life,  at  last  take  up  the  lamentation,  "  The  har 
vest  is  past,  the  summer  is  ended,  and  we  are  not 
saved  !" 


106  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


XVI, 
0f 


"  The  lengthened  night  elapsed,  the  morning  shines 
Serene,  in  all  her  dewy  beauty  bright, 
Unfolding  fair  the  LAST  AUTUMNAL  DAY." 

THUS  sang  the  poet  of  the  seasons,  who  held  deep 
and  solemn  communion  with  Nature  in  her  various  and 
beautiful  forms.  His  ear  was  open  to  the  melody  of 
her  voice.  His  heart  was  susceptible  of  every  just  and 
tender  impression  from  such  a  source.  His  hand  copied 
her  beauties,  and  thus  multiplied  the  pleasures  which 
she  is  fitted  to  impart.  But  if  the  inspiration  of  genius 
moved  the  poet  to  the  utterance  of  high  and  ennobling 
thoughts  on  such  a  theme,  the  inspiration  of  God  moved 
the  prophet  to  say,  "  We  all  do  fade  as  a  leaf,"  and  thus 
by  a  mere  allusion  to  an  interesting  fact  in  nature,  to 
teach,  with  sententious  brevity,  a  volume  of  divine 
truth.  A  single  stroke  of  the  prophetic  pencil,  con 
ceived,  perhaps,  while  the  prophet  was  walking  abroad 
on  some  autumnal  day,  spreads  before  us  one  broad 
view  of  human  life,  admonishing  the  transient  tenants 
of  a  season  so  to  number  their  days,  as  to  apply  their 
hearts  unto  heavenly  wisdom. 

I  have  come,  then,  with  my  quarterly  lesson  to-day, 
dear  reader,  and  ask  your  serious  attention  for  only  a 
few  moments.  Be  not  reluctant  to  listen,  for  it  may  be 
the  last  admonition  to  which  your  attention  will  be 


THE  LAST  DAT  OF  AUTUMN.  107 

called.  Since  I  came  to  you  on  the  "  last  day  of  sum 
mer,"  some  of  your  number  have  gone,  either  to  "  the 
better  land,"  of  which  the  tender  Hemans  sang  so 
sweetly;  or,  I  fear,  to  the  dark  world,  where  every 
hateful,  dreadful  passion  lives,  and  every  lovely,  gentle 
•affection  dies — whence  Hope  is  banished,  and  where 
Despair  is  enthroned  for  eternity !  I  have  buried  some. 
The  pastors  of  thousands  can,  if  they  could  be  heard, 
testify  to  the  sad  offices  which  they  have  been  called  to 
perform  for  the  dead.  The  season  of  many  a  sinner  has 
closed.  The  winds  of  approaching  winter  will  sweep 
heavily  over  his  snow-crowned  grave.  But  I  now  speak 
to  the  living.  To  them,  I  say,  "  Be  sober."  It  is  the 
spirit  of  the  season.  Poetry  did  not  merely  present  an 
image,  but  echoed  the  voice  of  thoughtful  Reason,  when 
characterizing  the  sobriety  of  autumn. 

"  The  pale,  descending  year,  yet  pleasing  still, 
A  gentler  mood  inspires ;  for  now  the  leaf 
Incessant  rustles  from  the  mournful  groves, 
Oft  startling  such  as,  studious,  watch  below." 
******  Then  is  the  time 
For  those  whom  wisdom  and  whom  Nature  charm, 
To  steal  themselves  from  the  degenerate  crowd, 
And  soar  above  this  little  scene  of  things, 
To  tread  low-thoughted  Vice  beneath  their  feet, 
To  soothe  the  throbbing  passions  into  peace, 
And  woo  lone  Quiet  in  her  silent  walks."* 

Those  who  have  reveled  away  the  bright  days  of 
summer,  ought  now  to  begin  to  think.  The  leaves  of 
autumn  have  been  falling  around  you  for  some  time, 
each  little  messenger  wrhispering  into  the  ear  of  man, 

*  Thomson. 


108  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

as  it  descends  to  its  native  earth,  "  dust  thou  art,  and 
unto  dust  shalt  thou  return." 

The  beasts  that  perish  have  their  pleasures,  but  never 
any  thoughts  in  the  high  sense  of  the  word,  as  involv 
ing  the  mental  exercises  of  a  being  destined  to  immor 
tality.  The  mind  of  man  is  made  to  ascend — even- 
"  through  nature  up  to  nature's  God."  Let  the  Chris 
tian  reflect  on  his  inward  experience  and  his  outward 
acts  during  the  autumnal  months.  Ask,  What  have  I 
done  for  God  and  the  souls  of  men  ?  Let  the  sinner 
answer  the  question,  Why  have  I  permitted  another 
season  to  pass  without  REPENTANCE  ?  Let  the  main  cur 
rent  of  your  thoughts,  at  least  to-day,  flow  upward. 

Eemember,  also,  that  the  days  of  the  season  have 
been  continually  shortening.  There  is  instruction  in 
this.  If  the  youth  will  not  receive  it,  perhaps  he  of 
middle  age  will  listen.  Is  it  not  so  with  you  ?  Do  not 
your  days  seem  to  fly  more  swiftly,  since  you  have 
passed  the  spring-time  of  youth,  and  reached  your  me 
ridian?  The  descent  to  the  grave  is  like  that  of  a 
material  body  by  the  force  of  gravity  to  the  earth — 
with  a  continually  increasing  momentum.  "  My  days 
are  like  a  weaver's  shuttle."  Then  up,  and  be  do 
ing.  One  so  near  your  coffin,  as  you  seem  to  be, 
has  no  time  to  lose.  It  is  dreadful  to  trifle  on  the  very 
confines  of  the  tomb,  which  is  opening  to  receive  you. 

This  is  the  gathering  season.  The  suns  and  rains  of 
summer  were  so  abundantly  and  seasonably  distributed, 
that  the  earth  brought  forth  plentifully.  And  the  fruits 
have  been  safely  gathered  in,  so  that  "  the  barns  are 
filled  with  plenty,"  and  God  is  feeding  us  with  "  the 
finest  of  the  wheat,"  What  multitudes  have  "  laid  up 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  AUTUMN.  109 

in  store  for  the  time  to  come,"  for  the  wants  of  the 
body !  Let  all  this  teach  thee  to  provide  for  thy  soul. 
Its  wants  are  more  pressing,  its  demands  more  imper 
ative,  than  those  of  the  body.  The  Bible  sends  the  lazy 
sluggard  to  the  little  ant,  to  learn  a  lesson  of  industry 
from  that  insect,  "  which  provideth  her  meat  in  sum 
mer,  and  gathereth  her  food  in  harvest."  Read  that, 
Prov.  vi.  6-11.  How  long  wilt  thou  sleep,  O  sin 
ner  ?  Labor  not,  I  entreat  you,  for  the  meat  that  per 
is  heth. 

This  is  a  preparing  season.  Men  are  preparing  in 
various  ways  for  the  approach  of  winter.  I  mean  for 
the  body ;  how  they  shall  feed  it,  how  clothe  it,  how 
warm  it,  how  defend  themselves  from  the  rigors  of  the 
cold  season.  Who  is  preparing  for  the  immortal  soul  ? 
Winter  will  be  upon  us  to-morrow.  To-day  we  attend 
the  funeral  of  autumn,  sweet  autumn.  To-morrow 

"  Dread  winter  spreada  his  earliest  glooms, 
And  reigns  tremendous  o'er  the  conquered  year. 
See  here  thy  pictured  life ;  pass  some  few  years, 
Thy  flowering  Spring,  thy  Summer's  ardent  strength, 
Thy  sober  Autumn  fading  into  age, 
And  pale  concluding  Winter  comes  at  last 
And  shuts  the  scene  !" 

Yes,  this  winter  will  wrap  its  winding-sheet  around 
the  faded  form  of  many  a  loved  and  cherished  one, 
that  has  been  permitted  to  see  the  end  of  autumn. 
How  many,  too,  are  preparing  for  a  winter  of  pleasure 
and  fashionable  folly  that  will  be  met  by  the  pale  mes 
senger,  and  summoned  to  another  world !  God  will 
"  not  meet  such  as  a  man,"  smiling  to  see  again  the 
countenance  of  a  dear  friend,  but  as  an  insulted  and 


110  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

indignant  Judge,  who  comes  to  execute  judgment  upon 
all  the  ungodly. 

As  in  cold  northern  regions  the  shepherd-farmer  pre 
pares  a  shelter  for  his  flocks  and  herds,  so  has  God 
provided  in  his  divine  Son  "  a  hiding-place  from  the 
wind,  and  a  covert  from  the  tempest,  a  refuge  in  the 
day  of  trouble,"  into  which  all  his  righteous  people  will 
run  and  find  security.  Header,  have  you  fled  for  ref 
uge  to  lay  hold  on  this  hope  ? 

As  this,  too,  is  the  season  when  the  feathered  myr 
iads,  conducted  by  that  providence  which  men  call  in 
stinct,  emigrate  to  milder  skies  and  more  sunny  climes, 
so  let  this  fact  in  the  history  of  nature  remind  us  that 
there  are  purer  regions  and  holier  realms,  to  which  the 
Spirit  of  God  invites  us,  and  for  which,  if  prepared  by 
holiness  of  heart,  we  shall  soon  "  wing  our  way,"  never, 
never  to  return  to  the  murky  fogs  and  chilling  damps 
of  this  unfriendly  region. 

"  Beyond  the  flight  of  time, 

Beyond  the  reign  of  death, 
There  surely  is  some  blessed  clime 
Where  life  is  not  a  breath." 

I  accompanied  recently  to  the  banks  of  the  Jordan 
one  of  three  sisters,  each  of  whom  faded  with  the  leaf: 
to  each  of  whom  successively  autumn  brought  con 
sumption,  and  an  inheritance  in  heaven  "  that  fadeth 
not  away."  It  was  the  first  painless  death  I  ever  wit 
nessed.  The  body  scarcely  suffered.  It  yielded  up  the 
spirit  without  an  effort.  The  soul  was  in  triumph.  If 
an  angel  could  die,  I  thought  it  would  be  thus.  And 
after  death  the  countenance  looked  so  gentle  and  heav- 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  AUTUMN.  Ill 

enly !  It  seemed  a  mirror  of  the  emotions  that  had 
'been  there,  and,  were  it  possible,  to  have  forgotten  they 
were  gone !  It  was  the  impression  sealed  and  left  by 
a  soul,  happy  in  God,  upon  the  mortal  clay.  "  Let  me 
die  the  death  of  the  righteous."  May  the  coming  win 
ter  bring  all  necessary  comforts  to  your  home,  and  all 
divine  blessings  to  your  soul — its  short  days  be  filled 
with  deeds  of  active  usefulness,  and  its  long  evenings 
cheered  with  the  presence  of  God,  and  when  your  body 
shall  descend  to  the  grave,  may  your  soul  ascend  to  the 
bosom  of  the  Lamb  ! 

That  the  seasons  by  their  original  constitution  were 
intended  to  act  upon  the  intellectual  and  moral,  as  well 
as  physical  powers  of  man,  cannot  be  doubted  by  those 
who  have  observed  how,  in  fact,  mind  has  been  quick 
ened  and  exalted  by  their  influence.  To  the  imagina 
tion,  especially,  they  seem  to  minister  the  very  aliment 
of  its  life  and  beauty.  How  does  the  soul  of  the  sweet 
Psalmist  of  Israel  kindle  under  such  influence!  Of 
uninspired  poetry  an  instance  or  two  will  suffice — the 
Pastorals  of  Virgil,  and  the  Seasons  of  Thomson.  Nor 
are  these  merely  works  of  the  imagination.  As  they  are 
the  product  of  intellectual  labor,  so  it  requires  intellect 
ual  labor  to  understand  them.  They  cannot  be  skim 
med.  There  is  deep  and  divine  philosophy  in  them. 
The  intellect  is  instructed  and  expanded,  the  love  of 
truth  invigorated,  the  resolute  endeavor  after  good  is 
encouraged,  and  the  whole  man  improved.  The  pure 
and  holy  Teacher  from  heaven  did  not  disdain  to  ap 
peal  to  the  modest  lily  of  the  field  and  the  winged 
denizens  of  the  air,  for  the  enforcement  of  a  point  of 
instruction.  If  Genius,  then,  as  well  as  Piety,  has  so 


112          GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

uniformly  been  waked  into  exercise  by  external  Nature, 
is  it  not  a  just  inference  that  the  Creator  of  mind  and 
matter  has  established  this  law?  that  he  has  linked 
the  outward  to  the  inward  by  millions  of  cords  too 
attenuated  to  be  perceived  by  the  common  eye  ?  Look 
forth,  then,  reader,  upon  the  beauty  of  the  season.  Here 
is  one  of  the  serene  and  meek-eyed  sisters  of  this  lovely 
family,  four  in  number,  acknowledging  a  common  Fa 
ther,  happy  in  his  smile,  living  on  his  bounty,  reflect 
ing  his  glory.  In  the  hand  of  this  one  you  see  a  bunch 
of  faded  flowers.  She  received  them  from  her  gay  and 
joyous  sister,  as  she  departed,  but  then  they  were  in  all 
their  bloom  and  freshness.  Now  they  are  withered. 
The  truth  emblematically  taught  is,  that  "  we  all  do 
fade  as  a  leaf."  Autumn  would  thus  silently  breathe 
into  our  hearts  a  lesson,  which  it  is  for  the  interest  of 
all  to  learn. 

If  now  we  contemplate  the  forest  or  the  field,  as 
each  begins  to  assume  the  autumnal  hue,  the  idea  of 
beauty  still  lingers  in  the  mind.  True,  it  is  the  beauty 
of  the  expiring  year ;  but  this  heightens  the  emotion  of 
the  soul,  as  it  would  kindle  at  the  spectacle  of  a  dying 
believer,  whose  pallid  features  are  illumined  with  the 
brightness  of  hope,  or  tremble  with  the  ecstasy  of  joy. 

Suggestion,  too,  comes  in  to  aid  the  impression.  If 
there  was  no  expected  spring,  when  all  shall  look  green 
again,  the  spirit  of  melancholy  might  well  come  over 
us.  But  again  will  the  youngest  sister  of  the  group 
return,  wreathed  in  smiles  and  redolent  of  fragrance,  to 
wake  the  echoes  of  the  human  heart.  So  there  is  a 
spring-time  for  mortal  man,  when  the  corruptible  shall 
put  on  incorruption,  and  the  mortal  shall  put  on  im- 


THE    LAST    DAY    OF    AUTUMN. 


mortality  ; — when  the  animal  shall  be  lost  in  the  spir 
itual,  the  earthly  absorbed  in  the  heavenly,  and  DEATH 
swallowed  up  in  VICTORY.  It  is  the  analogy  of  nature. 
It  is  applied  by  the  Author  of  nature  himself  in  the 
person  of  Jesus  Christ.  It  is  so  beautiful  a  thought, 
that  it  is  repeated  by  the  Chief  Apostle,  and  can  never 
lose  its  interest. 

The  beneficence  of  the  closing  year  is  so  well  fitted  to 
excite  gratitude,  that  he  who  is  a  stranger  to  this  emo 
tion  should  suspect  some  mental  or  moral  obliquity, 
and  wonder  that  he  can  live  in  the  midst  of  the  works 
of  God,  without  adoring  God  for  his  works.  "The 
dread  magnificence  of  heaven  and  earth"  is  before  him. 
Who  is  to  admire  but  intellectual  man  ?  Who  shall 
love,  if  not  affectionate  woman?  Let  the  return  of 
autumn,  then,  raise  every  mind  to  God,  and  every 
heart  to  the  work  of  a  noble  charity. 


114  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


XVII, 

of 


"  The  prompting  seraph  and  the  poet's  lyre 
Still  sing  the  GOD  OF  SEASONS  as  they  roll 

******* 
Such  beauty  and  beneficence  combined, 
Shade,  unperceived,  so  softening  into  shade, 
And  all  so  forming  an  harmonious  whole, 
That,  as  they  still  succeed,  they  ravish  still." 


HE  is  speaking  of  the  Seasons.  They  succeed  each 
other  not  only  in  natural  beauty,  but  with  moral  tend 
encies.  Those  only  that  so  regard  them  will  receive 
the  benefit  they  are  designed  to  bestow.  In  the  smiles 
of  Spring  beams  the  benevolence  of  God  ;  in  the  won 
derful  growth  in  Summer  of  all  that  belongs  to  the 
vegetable  kingdom  is  seen  the  hiding  of  his  power; 
in  the  abundance  of  Autumn,  the  beneficence  of  the 
Infinite  Giver,  who  "  opens  his  hand,  and  satisfies  the 
desire  of  every  living  thing  ;"  even  in  the  sternness 
and  rigidity  of  Winter  appears  that  conservative  care 
which  never  sleeps  amid  the  wide-spread  works  of 
God. 

Were  I  to  advert  to  those  moral  qualities  which  the 
silent  Seasons  seem  to  teach,  and  even  to  exemplify, 
with  Spring  I  should  associate  gentleness  ;  with  Sum 
mer,  cheerfulness  ;  sobriety  with  Autumn,  and  sublim 
ity  with  Winter.  The  first  revives  ;  the  second  de- 


THE   LAST   DAY   OF   WESTTEK.  115 

lights ;  the  third  solemnizes ;  the  last  astonishes. 
Could  we  "  enter  into  the  treasures  of  the  snow,  or  see 
the  treasures  of  the  hail,"  or  inspect  the  imprisoned 
winds,  we  might  form  some  idea  of  the  truth  of  the 
last  assertion.  Henry  Kirke  "White,  in  his  hymn  on 
the  Omnipotence  of  God,  inspired  with  the  majesty  of 
the  theme,  says : 

'  He  yokes  the  whirlwind  to  his  car, 
And  sweeps  the  howling  skies." 

Such  has  been  the  past  winter — stormy  and  severe ; 
but  it  is  now  over  and  gone,  and  again  have  we  reach 
ed  the  last  day  of  the  season.  It  seems  a  very  short 
time  since  I  presented  my  readers  with  an  humble 
homily  at  the  close  of  autumn ;  but  Time,  like  Wealth, 
possesses  a  pair  of  swift  wings,  and,  unlike  all  other 
wings,  they  are  never  at  rest.  Even  while  I  write, 
our  flight  is  still  onward — to  eternity !  Oh,  gentle 
reader!  is  it  upward  to  heaven?  Ask  thy  soul  this  per 
tinent  question,  and  task  thy  soul  faithfully  till  it  is 
answered. 

Has  the  winter  which  closes  to-day  been  with  thee 
a  contemplative  season  ?  It  is  eminently  fitted  to  be 
such.  Cowper  calls  it  the  season  of  "  fireside  enjoy 
ments,  home-born  happiness,"  and  praises  the  com 
forts  of  "  undisturbed  retirement"  which  it  affords. 
Hast  thou  improved  the  retirement ?  "I  muse  on  the 
work  of  thy  hands,"  said  a  holy  man ;  "  and  while  I 
was  musing,  the  fire  burned.  Then  spake  I  with  my 
tongue  :  Lord,  make  me  to  know  my  end,  and  the 
measure  of  my  days,  what  it  is,  that  I  may  know  how 
frail  I  am."  He  means  that  the  fire  of  true  devotion 


116  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

was,  in  the  process  of  holy  meditation,  kindled  in  his 
heart ;  and,  as  "  out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the 
mouth  speaketh,"  so  he  could  not  help  speaking  of  the 
brevity  of  life  and  approaching  mortality.  While  he 
wore  a  crown,  he  remembered  he  must  lay  it  at  the 
feet  of  Death.  "Would  that  all  crowned  heads  were 
thus  thoughtful !  But  David  also  was  a  father,  the 
head  of  a  family,  and  as  such  returned  from  public 
cares  "  to  bless  his  own  household."  Has  the  father 
who  reads  this  been  in  the  habit  of  praying  in  his 
family  daily  through  this  winter  ?  Have  you  instruct 
ed  your  children  during  those  long  winter  evenings  ? 
Has  the  mother,  .as  she  sung  her  evening  lullaby  over 
cradled  infancy,  lifted  her  heart  to  God  for  the  eternal 
salvation  of  the  being  intrusted  to  her  charge  ?  Moth 
er,  that  is  an  immortal  treasure.  Hold  it  as  such. 
Handle  it  as  such.  Love  it  not  to  its  destruction. 
Neglect  it  not  to  its  ruin.  Children !  has  filial  obe 
dience  been  your  principle  and  your  practice  ?  Pro 
fessor  of  religion !  what  hast  thou  done  for  the  glory 
of  God  and  the  good  of  his  Church  ? 

Since  our  last  interview,  a  new  year  has  commenced. 
Reader,  was  it  truly  so  to  thee  ?  New  resolutions, 
new  hopes,  new  fears,  new  joys,  new  desires,  a  NEW 
HEART — are  all  these  true  ?  Blessed  be  God,  1840  will 
not  be  forgotten  by  multitudes  to  whom  it  has  already 
been  a  "  year  of  the  right  hand  of  the  Most  High." 
It  has  been  my  satisfaction  to  witness  some  holy 
scenes  this  winter.  The  laboring  zeal  of  Christ's  min 
isters — the  indefatigable  activity  of  Christians — the 
exulting  hopes  of  young  converts — the  anxious  inqui 
ries  of  the  awakened — the  fixed  attention  even  of  the 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  WINTER.  117 

unawakeiied  —  these  have  manifested  truly  that  the 
Spirit  of  the  Lord  has  been  abroad,  especially  in  the 
cities,  the  fountains  of  good  or  evil.  Multitudes  have 
been  gathered  in,  though,  alas!  multitudes  also  "be 
hold,  wonder,  despise,"  and,  we  fear,  "  will  perish." 

While  such  have  sought  their  pleasure  in  divine 
sources,  others  have  made  this  a  season  of  gay  festivi 
ty.  The  siren  voice  of  pleasure  has  lured  many  a 
poor  sinner  on  to  his  doom ;  and  many  who  began 
the  winter  in  gayety  and  glee,  have  made  their  bed 
beneath  its  silent  snows.  Death  is,  indeed,  the  work 
of  all  seasons.  As  it  is  written  in  letters  of  iron  on 
the  "  church-going  bell"  of  my  native  parish, 

"  I  to  the  church  the  living  call, 
And  to  the  grave  I  summon  all ;' 

and  as  that  bell  has  tolled  the  knell  of  one  generation, 
so  it  is  every  where.  Even  since  I  began  to  write  this 
article,  just  as  my  pen  had  left  on  the  paper  the  words 
above — the  exulting  hopes  of  young  converts — an  im 
penitent  man  knocked  at  my  door,  and  requested  me 
to  go  and  see  his  wife  die !  I  went,  and  beheld  a 
scene,  I  will  not  say  for  a  painter  or  a  poet  to  describe, 
but  for  angels  to  wonder  at : — a  feeble  woman  in  the 
embrace  of  death,  but  so  perfectly  happy,  as  not  only 
to  defy  all  the  terrors  of  the  formidable  conqueror, 
but  to  subdue  the  very  agonies  of  dissolving  nature. 
And  this  was  but  a  babe  in  Christ  two  or  three  years 
old  !  All  were  weeping  but  her,  and  she  begged  me 
to  sing ;  for  Jesus  Christ  had  been  pouring  in  such  a 
stream  of  love  as  to  overflow  her  whole  soul,  and  she 
wanted  a  tongue  to  give  expression  to  the  ecstasy  of  her 


_ 

118  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

feelings.  I  sung  "  Halleluiah  to  the  Lamb  who  hath 
purchased  our  pardon,"  and  "  Oh  grave,  where  is  thy 
triumph  now !"  with  other  similar  hymns,  praising 
and  praying,  till  her  soul  could  commune  with  earth 
no  more.  Having  accompanied  her,  as  it  were,  to  the 
gate  of  heaven,  we  descended  with  sorrowful  steps  to 
mingle  again  in  earthly  scenes.  "  Weep  not  for  the 
dead  in  Christ." 

But  the  great  event  of  the  season  was  that  fatal  ca 
tastrophe  of  the  night  of  the  thirteenth  of  January  !* 
"Let  that  night  be  solitary.  Let  no  joyful  voice  come 
therein."  Who  can  forget  it?  Many  a  pillow  has 
been  wet  with  tears  from  eyes  that  never  saw  one  of 
the  sufferers  in  that  dreadful  conflagration.  It  is  the 
tribute  of  nature  to  humanity.  None  of  them  did  I 
know,  but  a  brother's  sorrow  has  saddened  my  heart. 
When  the  mind  contemplates  in  detail  the  known  or 
the  possible  circumstances  of  the  scene,  it  shrinks  con 
vulsively  from  the  view.  There  the  fond  mother  and 
her  little  ones  sunk  in  the  deep  waters  together — the 
manly  husband  died  with  the  warm,  though  despair 
ing  recollection  of  his  wife  and  children  around  his 
heart — she  that  was  a  living  bride,  becomes  the  bride 
of  death — helpless  children  are  given  up  as  victims  to 
the  angry  wave — the  old  and  the  young,  the  gay  and 
the  grave,  the  prepared  and  the  unprepared,  the 
thoughtless  sinner  and  the  thoughtful  Christian,  all 
hastened  together  into  eternity  !  What  did  they  then 
think  of  the  value  of  a  HOPE  m  CHRIST  ?  Those  who 
had  it,  tried  its  immortal  worth,  and  it  endured  the 
trial.  Those  who  had  it  not,  tested  its  value  by  its 

*  Burning  of  the  Lexington  in  Long  Island  Sound. 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  WINTER.  119 

everlasting  loss.  They  will  return  no  more.  The  thou 
sand  bereaved  friends  "  will  go  to  them."  The  thousand 
eyes  that  have  "  wept  sore"  for  the  departed,  will  see 
them  no  more  in  the  probationary  land.  As  the  dead, 
then,  will  not  return .  to  the  living,  let  the  living  pre 
pare  to  go  to  the  dead.  Ere  another  season  shall  re 
volve,  beloved  reader,  the  Son  of  man  may  call  for  you 
— perhaps  one  stroke  of  his  providence  may  seal  your 
eternal  destiny.  Not  long  had  those  of  whom  we  have 
spoken  exchanged  the  salutations  of  the  New  Year,  be 
fore  it  was  made  known  to  them  that  they  had  reached 
the  last  year  of  their  life. 

One  word  in  conclusion.  Soon  "  the  flowers  will 
appear  on  the  earth,  and  the  time  of  the  singing  of 
birds  will  come."  Sweet  Spring  will  anew  open  her 
bright  and  beaming  eye  upon  us,  and  appear  dressed 
in  her  loveliest  smiles.  To-morrow,  indeed,  will  be 
the  first  Sabbath  of  the  vernal  season.  The  first  Sab 
bath  of  the  Spring  !  It  will  give  character  to  all  the 
rest.  Then  rise  early.  Shut  out  the  world.  Shake 
off  domestic  cares.  Be  early  at  the  feet  of  Jesus. 
Double  your  devotions.  Be  first  at  the  Sabbath-school 
— first  at  the  sanctuary — let  your  soul  become  fragrant 
with  the  incense  of  the  temple,  and  that  savor  will 
cling  to  you  through  the  week,  perhaps  through  the 
season,  and  through  the  year  ! 


120  GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 


XVIII, 
®hc  £asi  JDan  of  tlje  gear. 

IT  is  gone !  The  last  month,  the  last  week,  the  last 
day  of  another  year !  GONE,  never,  never  to  return.  The 
record  has  been  made,  and  will  not  be  opened  till  we 
meet  it  at  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ. 

"  The  golden  sun  and  silver  spheres, 
Those  bright  chronometers  of  days  and  years," 

speak  to  thoughtless  mortals  with  a  sublimity  and  power 
impressive,  like  all  the  works  of  God.  They  teach  us 
to  "  measure  our  days,"  and  to  meditate  our  end.  Their 
glory  shall  depart  when  the  "  heavens  shall  be  rolled 
together  as  a  scroll,"  but  the  glory  of  redeemed  MIND 
can  never  be  extinguished.  From  year  to  year,  then, 
should  it  ascend  in  the  scale  of  acquisition,  and  make 
the  recollections  of  the  past  subservient  to  the  improve 
ment  of  the  future.  "  Tis  greatly  wise  to  talk  of  our 
past  hours."  What  intellectual  acquisitions  have  you 
made  ?  The  treasures  of  that  deep — Time  past — are  in 
exhaustible.  Have  you  sought  for  them  ?  Have  your 
moral  and  intellectual  powers  been  disciplined  by  health 
ful  exercise? 

The  MEMORY — that  statuary  of  the  soul — ever  em 
ployed  in  fixing,  as  in  imperishable  marble,  the  fea 
tures  of  thought  as  they  rise,  has  it  well  discharged  its 
high  duty  ?  Bene  meminisse  bene  orasse — to  remember 
well  is  to  pray  well. 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  THE  YEAR.  121 

The  IMAGINATION — the  painter  of  the  soul — has  its 
pencil  ever  been  dipped  in  pure  and  chaste  colors  ?  Its 
pictures — have  they  been  such  as  the  holy  eye  of  an 
angel  could  look  upon  with  a  smile  ?  O  painter !  thou 
paintest  for  eternity !  Spirit  of  God  !  sanctify  my  im 
agination.  Reader,  the  veil  that  conceals  the  inward 
scenery  of  thy  soul  is  one  day  to  be  withdrawn,  and 
those  colors,  durable  beyond  the  achievements  of  an 
cient  art,  shall  stand  revealed  to  all. 

The  CONSCIENCE — that  sleepless  sentinel  of  God — that 
guardian  of  the  most  secret  interests  of  the  soul,  that 
unprejudiced  and  faithful  adviser  of  sinful  man,  that 
solitary  witness  of  all  within — hath  it  watched  with  an 
approving  eye,  its  counsels  followed,  its  vigilance 
blessed  ?  Simplicity  and  godly  sincerity  !  Conscience 
loves  to  testify  to  such. 

The  POWER  OF  CHOICE — hath  it  been  exercised  for  the 
glory  of  Him  who  bestowed  it  ?  Of  the  countless  mul 
titudes  of  objects  presented  to  it,  how  many  have  been 
wisely  chosen  ?  The  volitions  of  a  single  year !  The 
eternity  of  how  many  hangs  upon  them!  The  poet 
Cowper,  ever  thoughtful  and  practical,  as  well  as  ten 
der  and  imaginative,  thus  writes  : 

"  The  lapse  of  time  and  rivers  is  the  same, 
Both  speed  their  journey  with  a  restless  stream ; 
The  silent  pace  with  which  they  steal  away, 
No  wealth  can  bribe,  no  prayers  persuade  to  stay. 
Alike  irrevocable  both  when  past, 
And  a  wide  ocean  swallows  both  at  last. 
Streams  never  flow  in  vain;  where  streams  abound, 
How  laughs  the  land  with  various  plenty  crowned ! 
But  time,  that  should  enrich  the  nobler  mind, 
Neglected,  leaves  a  dreary  waste  behind." 

6 


. 

122  GLEANINGS    AND    GKOUPINGS. 

: . 

How  has  the  current  of  life  the  past  year  affected  us  ? 
Many  who  read  this  will  think  of  their  afflictions. 
Mother,  thou  hast  given  to  the  cold  bosom  of  the  earth 
that  sweet  one,  not  long  since  pillowed  on  thine  own. 
"Well,  what  saith  the  Father  of  infinite  love — what 
saith  He,  who  died  for  you  and  me  ?  "  In  heaven  their 
angels  do  always  behold  the  face  of  my  Father,  who  is 
in  heaven."  Are  not  the  spirits  of  the  early  dead  well 
provided  for?  Thou  hast  the  privilege  of  watching 
over  the  dust.  Thou  couldst  not  take  care  of  the  spirit. 
Angels  are  commanded  to  do  that,  and  after  a  few  re 
volving  suns,  will  present  thee  the  cherub  of  thy  heart, 
beautiful  with  the  light  of  heaven,  and  blooming  with 
its  immortality,  an  heir  of  redeeming  love  forever ! 

It  may  be  that  the  manly  father  and  revered  head 
of  your  family  has  fallen  by  the  stroke  of  death.  Many 
an  obituary  of  this  kind  has — shall  I  say  gilded  or  sad 
dened  that  never  vacant  column  of  the  journals  ?  It 
is  a  joyful  record  when  we  think  of  them  as  the  dead 
in  Christ,  for  "  to  depart  and  be  with  Christ  is  far  bet 
ter"  for  them  than  to  continue  their  pilgrimage  in  this 
dark  world  of  sin  and  woe ;  but  then  how  needful  they 
seemed  to  their  own  dear  circle,  to  the  struggling 
Church  of  God,  and  to  us  all !  Many  ministers  have 
gone  from  different  schools,  but  the  only  question  asked 
at  the  gate  of  heaven  was,  Did  you  belong  to  the  school 
of  Christ?  Pious  and  devoted  elders,  too,  have  bid 
farewell  to  the  church  militant  below,  to  join  the  church 
triumphant  above.  I  think  of  one  to  whom  I  could 
erect  a  monument,  not  in  obedience  to  custom,  but  in 
the  fullness  of  devoted  affection;  not  to  eulogize  the 
dead,  but  to  admonish  the  living;  not  to  magnify  his 


THE    OPENING    YEAR.  123 

virtues,  but  to  awaken  those  of  the  living.  His  home 
was  his  delight — the  mother  of  his  children  his  joy — the 
children  of  that  mother  his  hope  ;  his  house  the  abode 
of  piety  and  peace — his  living  presence  its  brightest 
light — his  dying  hour  its  darkest  affliction.  From  that 
couch  of  patient  suffering  Hope,  assured  by  Faith  and 
winged  with  Love,  seemed  to  ascend  to  heaven  and  to 
rejoice  in  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life. 

"  Is  that  a  death-bed  where  the  Christian  lies  ? 
Yes,  but  not  his — 'tis  Death  itself  there  dies  !" 


XIX, 

f)ecu:. 


To  a  reflecting  mind,  nothing  earthly  can  be  more 
impressive  than  the  flight  of  Time.  Hence  the  frequent 
and  striking  images  drawn  from  this  idea  in  the  Holy 
Scriptures.  Hence,  also,  the  strong  and  urgent  practi 
cal  inferences  deduced  from  this  fact  in  the  same  in 
structive  volume.  "The  time  is  short.  It  remaineth 
that  both  they  that  have  wives  be  as  though  they  had 
none,  and  they  that  weep  as  though  they  wept  not,  and 
they  that  rejoice  as  though  they  rejoiced  not,  and  they 
that  buy  as  though  they  possessed  not,  and  they  that 
use  this  world  as  not  abusing  it,  for  the  fashion  of  this 
world  passeth  away."  How  true  and  striking  this  sy 
nopsis  of  man's  earthly  relations  and  obligations  !  The 
inhabitants  of  this  world,  amid  all  their  busy  cares,  joys, 


124:  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

and  sorrows,  must  not  forget  that  a  higher  and  nobler 
care,  a  superior  joy,  and  a  more  salutary  sorrow,  should 
possess  their  hearts.  Even  in  this  short  sketch  the 
family  group  is  introduced.  It  is  in  the  foreground  of 
the  picture,  and  a  softened  shadow  rests  upon  it.  Even 
the  tender  impulses  of  domestic  affection  must  be  so 
tempered  by  an  ever  vital  and  vigilant  piety,  as  not  to 
be  too  sorely  wounded  by  the  sudden  rupture  of  the 
ties  that  bind  us  to  earth.  Our  dearest  treasures  must 
be  so  possessed  and  enjoyed,  as  that  their  instant  sur 
render  would  not  seriously  derange  the  harmony  of  our 
moral  existence.  The  opening  year  brings  to  thousands 
many  sad,  as  well  as  joyous  recollections.  The  images 
of  the  departed  rise  up  before  memory's  pensive  eye,  a 
solemn  train.  They  seem  to  connect  themselves  by  a 
kind  of  mysterious,  yet  indissoluble,  bond  with  the  open 
ing  year.  They  demand  a  place  in  our  recollections. 
They  seem  to  prove  by  the  secret  influence  they  exert 
upon  us  the  immortality  of  the  departed  spirit.  They 
cannot  be  called  the  wrecks  which  Time,  in  his  passage, 
has  strewn  around.  It  is  the  body  alone  which  is  in 
ruins.  The  grave  is  the  true  landmark,  ever  before  our 
eyes,  of  the  territorial  limits  of  the  monarch  with  the 
"black  diadem."  Widely  extended  is  the  reign  of 
Death,  but  he  hath  no  power  over  the  soiil.  Our  friends 
are  said  to  die,  but  it  is  only  to  live,  and  to  live  with 
Jesus  in  heaven  if  they  lived  to  him  on  earth.  "What 
life  is,  we  are  impressively  taught  at  the  close  of  each 
revolving  year.  This  is  a  lesson  of  Time.  What  it  will 
be,  Eternity  alone  can  adequately  reveal. 

No  year  passes  without  serious  alterations  and  muta 
tions  in  the  family  circle.     Oh,  husband!   thou  hast 


THE   OPENING   YEAR.  125 

transferred  the  wife  of  thine  own  bosom  to  the  cold  bo 
som  of  the  grave.  God  hath  "  taken  away  from  thee 
the  desire  of  thine  eves  at  a  stroke."  Thou  art  written 
a  widower.  Hast  thou  so  lived  as  to  meet  this  afflic 
tion  with  tranquillity  and  fortitude  ?  Dost  thou  resign 
thyself  to  it  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  Christian  ?  When  the 
beloved  Rachel  died  (and  it  was  amid  the  most  affect 
ing  circumstances  she  was  called  away),  her  husband 
Jacob  erected  over  her  grave  a  column,  which  was  a 
memorial  at  once  of  the  affection  of  the  living  and  the 
virtues  of  the  dead.  Centuries  after,  "  Rachel's  sepul- 
clier  in  the  borders  of  Benjamin"  (the  very  name  of 
her  last-born  child)  was  familiarly  spoken  of  by  the 
inhabitants  of  the  land.  "The  memory  of  the  just  is 
blessed."  If  thou  hast  given  into  God's  hands  the 
spirit  of  a  saint,  thanksgiving  should  well  up  in  thy 
heart  for  the  perfected  immortality  of  the  treasure  in 
trusted  for  a  while  to  thee.  Art  thou  a  believer?  Let 
faith  and  patience  now  have  their  perfect  work.  Art 
thou  impenitent  ?  Let  thy  heart  melt  in  godly  sorrow 
under  the  discipline  of  this  providence.  Commend  thy 
motherless  children  to  the  God  of  the  covenant,  and 
live  for  their  salvation.  Thus  will  you  live  to  the  glory 
of  God. 

Reader,  art  thou  a  mother?  wast  thou  a  wife,  but  has 
the  past  year  bereaved  thee  of  thy  husband  ?  Then 
would  I  commend  thee  with  double  earnestness  to  the 
prayers  of  all  Christian  readers  of  these  pages.  Few 
there  are  who  have  duly  weighed  the  burden  of  the 
widow,  on  whom,  along  with  the  weight  of  affliction,  is 
devolved  the  double  responsibilities  of  a  father  and 
mother,  now  that  the  husband  and  father  is  taken 


126  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

away.  True,  a  declaration  of  marvelous  import  is  made 
to  her ;  a  pledge  of  infinite  love,  securing  inestimable 
blessings,  is  tendered  at  the  very  threshold  of  the  open 
ing  grave :  "Thy  Maker  is  thine  husband,  the  Lord  of 
Hosts  is  his  name."  This  promise  has  imparted  un 
speakable  strength  and  support  to  hearts  that  would 
otherwise  have  sunk  in  rayless  despair.  But  how  much 
faith  it  requires  amid  the  perplexities  and  embarrass 
ments  of  the  widowed  state,  and  the  polite  indiffer 
ence  or  positive  coldness  of  the  world,  to  appropriate 
the  promises  of  the  covenant,  and  deeply  to  feel  that 
we  are  not  "  to  live  by  bread  alone,  but  by  every  word 
that  proceedeth  out  of  the  mouth  of  God  !"  "Widowed 
mother !  though  a  dark  cloud  may  now  hang  over  your 
prospects,  be  not  discouraged ;  trust  in  that  God  who 
charged  his  people  by  positive  statute  "  not  to  afflict 
any  widow  or  fatherless  child,"  and  who  declared  lie 
would  vindicate  their  cause.  He  said  also  by  the  mouth 
of  his  servant,  Paul,  that  the  "  widow  indeed  trusteth 
in  God,  and  continueth  in  supplications  and  prayers 
night  and  day."  Thus  did  Anna,  the  evening  of  whose 
life  closed  in  such  cloudless  serenity,  giving  sweet,  ce 
lestial  tokens  that  the  morning  of  her  eternity  would 
be  ushered  in  amid  gladness  and  glory.  Long  did  that 
lovely  saint,  whose  cherished  home  was  the  house  of 
God,  maintain  the  conflict  of  life,  to  win  at  last  that 
imperishable  crown  which  the  Lord  hath  promised  to 
them  that  love  him.  Oh,  light  afflictions  !  that  herald 
an  inheritance  of  such  an  "  exceeding  and  eternal  weight 
of  glory."  Let  nothing  shake  your  faith  in  your  Re 
deemer,  who  is  mighty.  Often  are  ye  the  chosen  ones 
to  bless  the  Church  with  some  of  its  noblest  instrument- 


THE   OPENING    YEAE. 


alities.  Even  for  this  world,  about  which  some  natu 
ral  anxieties  will  arise  in  your  hearts,  God's  vigilant 
bounty  will  make  all  due  provisions.  I  know  a  mother, 
who,  bereaved  of  her  husband,  was  left  with  a  legacy 
of  six  sons  and  poverty,  while  the  sons  of  her  rich 
neighbor  inherited  each  a  "  fortune."  The  pious  widow 
lived  to  see  all  her  sons  prosperous  and  respected,  and 
the  sons  of  her  neighbor,  alas !  ruined  and  blotted  from 
among  the  living.  Once  the  objects  of  envy,  they 
speedily  became  the  objects  of  alternate  pity,  scorn, 
and  contempt.  She  arose,  and  blessed  God  that  he  had 
denied  to  her  wealth,  while  he  had  vouchsafed  faith 
and  fidelity. 

It  may  be  that  amid  the  vicissitudes  of  the  departed 
year,  you  have  been  called  to  mourn  the  death  of  a 
dear  child.  Well,  the  "times"  of  those  we  love,  as 
well  as  our  own,  "  are  in  thy  hands,"  O  Lord !  The 
sympathies  of  Him,  the  crucified  One,  are  warming  to 
ward  you.  His  hand  holds  the  cup  of  affliction  to  your 
lips,  and  many  a  drop  of  consolation  will  he  infuse  into 
it.  He  will  not,  at  present,  as  he  did  to  the  widow  of 
JS'ain,  restore  your  child  to  your  grieved  bosom,  but  to 
your  faith  he  will  do  more — send  the  Comforter  to  be 
ever  with  you.  Richest  blossoms  of  hope  and  love 
often  spring  up  beneath  the  portals  of  the  tomb.  Be 
not  like  Paulina,  who,  at  the  death  of  every  child, 
nursed  her  grief  to  such  excess  that  she  almost  wept 
her  heart  away,  and  would  fain  die  on  the  very  margin 
of  the  grave  of  each  loved  one.  Let  not  thy  tears  bit 
terly  reproach,  but  rather  bear  a  tender  tribute  to  the 
wisdom  and' the  will  of  Him  who  loves  while  he  chas 
tises.  There  is  comfort  and  beauty  on  earth,  as  well  as 


128  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 

in  heaven,  though  not  in  perfection  here,  as  there. 
Look  aloft  to  the  summer  sky,  when  the  rainbow  spans 
with  its  bright  arch  the  distant  forest.  Behold  those 
beautiful  dyes  penciled  by  the  secret,  silent  hand  of 
God.  See  color  blending  into  color,  a  vision  of  ex 
quisite  loveliness  !  oSTow  turn  your  eye  to  the  earth  in 
her  summer  pride,  and  behold  the  many-colored  flow 
ers  planted  on  her  bosom  by  the  same  divine  hand, 
warmed  by  the  same  sun,  and  watered  by  the  same 
drops,  under  the  influence  of  which  the  gorgeous  struc 
ture  was  created.  Is  there  a  single  color  wanting  ?  Do 
not  they  answer,  one  by  one,  to  the  dyes  of  heaven  ? 
Herein  is  a  lesson.  The  graces  of  Heaven  are  reflected 
even  from  earth,  and  all  to  lead  us  back  to  glory. 

Time  is  bearing  us  on.     To  us  may  this  year  be  full 
of  spiritual  joy  and  individual  usefulness  ! 


XX. 
She  0abbatl 

LET  us  all  so  call  it  hereafter.  It  is  altogether  an 
appropriate  designation.  The  public  mind  is  waking 
up  to  promote  its  observance.  A  few  thoughts  here 
may  be  seasonable.  "  We  never,"  says  Dr.  Chalmers, 
"  in  the  whole  course  of  our  recollections,  met  with  a 
Christian  friend,  who  bore  upon  his  character  every 
other  evidence  of  the  Spirit's  operation,  who  did  not 
remember  the  Sabbath-day  to  keep  it  holy.''  This  test 
imony  is  true.  Here  is  an  institution  established  by 


THE    SAEBATK-DAY.  129 


the  law  of  Heaven.  It  completely  adapts  itself  to  the 
physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  nature  of  man.  The 
great  Expounder  of  law  declared  that  "  the  Sabbath 
was  made  for  MAN."  This  is  the  key  to  the  whole  mat 
ter.  If  for  universal  man — if  no  age,  no  generation 
of  men  be  excepted,  then,  like  redemption,  it  must 
necessarily  be  coeval  with  the  existence  of  man.  We 
should  expect  that  such  a  law,  being  at  all  times  neces 
sary  to  man,  would  be  enacted  from  the  beginning  and 
duly  published  as  the  ordinance  of  Heaven.  If  rest 
for  the  body,  repose  for  the  intellect,  and  a  pause  for 
the  improvement  of  our  moral  nature,  be  necessities  at 
one  time,  they  are  at  all  times.  The  particular  day  for 
Sabbath  sanctification,  as  distributed  into  minutes  and 
seconds,  is  not  the  main  point.  The  very  structure  of 
the  globe  renders  identity  in  time  a  natural  impossi 
bility.  But  the  hallowed  INSTITUTION — that  is  it ;  the 
holy,  immutable,  unrepealable  law  of  God,  which, 
equally  with  the  other  nine  precepts  of  the  Decalogue, 
is  founded  in  the  nature  of  God,  and  h'tted  to  the  na 
ture  of  man.  "  And  God  blessed  the  seventh  day  and 
sanctified  it,  because  that  in  it  he  had  rested  from  all 
his  work,  which  God  created  and  made."  This  law  is 
just  as  requisite  to  men  as  the  commandment,  Thou 
shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart.  Indeed, 
if  any  of  the  ten  illustrious  enactments  of  the  govern 
ment  of  God  may  claim  a  lofty  precedence  in  the  view 
of  the  human  race,  it  is  the  Fourth  and  the  Fifth, 
which  enjoin — the  one,  honor  to  God  as  the  Lord  of 
the  Sabbath :  the  other,  honor  to  parents  as  his  repre 
sentatives  on  earth.  Both  of  them  would  be  perfectly 
appropriate  to  man  in  his  unfallen  state,  even  amid  the 

6* 


130  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

bloom  and  beauty  of  Paradise  ere  the  sanctity  of  bis 
nature  bad  been  defiled  by  tbe  toucb  of  sin,  and  the 
rampant  corruptions  of  his  heart  and  life  bad  demanded 
that  God  should  say  in  penal  tones :  Thou  shalt  not 
bow  down  to  idols — not  kill — not  steal — not  commit 
adultery !  These  precepts  seem  to  have  been  framed 
to  meet  the  monstrous  developments  of  human  deprav 
ity  that  had  risen  in  the  face  of  Heaven.  But  the 
Sabbath — it  smiled  in  Paradise  itself.  Its  bright  sun 
gilded  the  innocence  of  man.  Its  gentle  gales,  in  the 
language  of  Milton, 

"  Fanning  their  odoriferous  wings,  dispensed 
Native  perfumes,  and  -whispered  whence  they  stole 
Those  balmy  spoils." 

The  Sabbath,  with  its  twin  sister,  MARRIAGE,  dwelt 
within  the  gates  of  Paradise  before  the  Cherubim  and 
"double-flaming  sword"  were  assigned  their  awful 
ministry  at  those  gates,  in  consequence  of  the  fall  of 
them  to  whom  these  blessed  institutions  were  given, 
but  from  whose  posterity  Heaven  did  not  in  its  wrath 
withdraw  them.  That  "  perpetual  fountain  of  domes 
tic  sweets"  has  never  been  dried  up :  that  "  mysterious 
law,  wedded  love,"  has  never  ceased  to  operate,  and 
thus  these  ancient,  heaven-born  blessings  have  survived 
the  desolations  of  every  age.  As  they  were  the  first  to 
be  bestowed  on  the  race  of  men,  they  will  be  the  last 
to  be  withdrawn  from  them.  Not  until  the  last  groan 

D 

of  expiring  nature  shall  die  upon  the  ear  of  listening 
worlds,  will  their  auspicious  influence  cease.  When 
all  "  the  people  of  God"  shall  have  attained  to  that 
"  rest  that  remaineth  for  them,"  and  they  shall  have 


THE    SABBATH-DAY.  131 

"become  like  unto  the  angels"  in  that  pure  world 
where  "  they  shall  die  no  more,"  as  they  shall  no  more 
"  marry  nor  be  given  in  marriage,"  then,  and  not  till 
then,  shall  these  institutions  cease,  for  then  only  will 
their  reason  cease.  Nothing  can  be  clearer  than  that 
both  these  laws  of  Heaven  are  absolutely  necessary  to 
the  peace,  beauty,  and  order  of  society,  and  to  the  hap 
piness  of  mankind ;  that  properly  observed,  they  tend 
to  promote  the  moral,  intellectual,  social,  and  spiritual 
improvement  of  those  who  are  under  the  government  of 
a  holy  God ;  that  they  are  among  the  strongest  safe 
guards  of  mental  and  moral  purity  :  that  he,  therefore, 
who  attempts  to  subvert  their  authority,  or  to  impair 
their  influence,  strikes  at  the  glory  of  God  and  at  the 
happiness  of  his  fellow-men,  and  thus  declares  himself 
an  enemy  to  God  and  man.  He  would  insult  Heaven 
and  despoil  earth :  blot  out  the  mercy  of  the  one  and 
extinguish  the  hopes  of  the  other.  Combine  these  two 
ideas  that  came  from  God — the  SABBATH  and  the  FAM 
ILY.  Think  of  a  sanctified  Sabbath  in  a  pious  family. 
It  is  an  image — shaded,  indeed — of  heaven.  A  sweet 
dawn  blushing  into  a  cloudless  day.  Domestic  life  has 
no  beauty  like  that  which  a  well-spent  Sabbath  sheds 
upon  it ;  no  fruits  so  fair  as  those  that  grow  on  this 
heavenly  tree ;  no  blessings  so  rich,  and  pure,  and  per 
manent,  as  those  which  flow  through  this  celestial  chan 
nel. 

As  by  the  constitution  of  God  this  law  of  the  Sab 
bath  has  no  limitation  within  itself,  so  it  has  never 
been  the  subject  of  a  divine  abrogation.  If  so,  where 
is  the  record  ?  When  was  it  repealed  ?  Men  in  their 
madness  have  decreed  its  extinction,  and  the  earth 


132  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

drank  their  blood !  The  dreadful  blow  they  leveled  at 
God's  institution  instantly  dissolved  the  ligaments  ot 
society,  and  upturned  the  foundations  of  virtue  and  or 
der.  Anarchy  sat  enthroned  amid  the  terrific  gloom 
of  this  deed  of  Atheism.  It  was  such  an  experiment 
on  the  patience  of  Heaven  as  the  world  will  not  soon 
forget,  nor  men  be  inclined  to  repeat.  All  sanctities 
were  then  violated,  all  obligations  of  justice,  love,  and 
mercy  were  repealed ;  but  the  law  of  God  is  still  para 
mount,  and  "all  the  earth  shall  be  filled  with  his 
glory."  The  sun  of  the  Sabbath  still  shines  on  this 
happy  land,  and  it  shall  spread  its  healing  rays  over 
all  lands.  In  the  beautiful  language  of  Robert  Hall, 
with  which  I  conclude :  "  The  vapors  which  gather 
round  the  rising  sun,  and  follow  it  in  its  course,  sel 
dom  fail  at  the  close  of  it  to  form  a  magnificent  theater 

o 

for  its  reception,  and  to  invest  with  variegated  tints, 
and  with  a  softened  effulgence,  the  luminary  which 
they  cannot  hide !" 


XXI, 
OTIje  Sabbaths  of  t\)c  £ast 

THE  year  1843  had  one  blessed  peculiarity.  It  be 
gan  with  the  Sabbath :  it  ended  with  the  Sabbath.  That 
gem  of  heaven  adorned  its  opening  and  its  close.  Its 
dawning  light  was  that  of  the  best  and  brightest  day  of 
the  week.  Its  parting  ray  was  of  the  same — calm, 
holy,  divine.  So  let  our  reflections  be.  Fifty-three 


THE  SABBATHS  OF  THE  LAST  YEAR.        133 

Sabbaths  blessed  the  last  year.  "We  rejoiced  in  its  young 
hours.  We  admired  its  early  bloom  and  its  advancing 
maturity,  and  we  beheld  its  decline.  How  graceful, 
yet  how  grand  and  awful,  its  progress  !  It  pauses  not 
for  the  convenience  of  mortals.  It  adjusts  not  its 
steady  and  majestic  march  to  the  fancies  or  the  desires 
of  reluctartt  men.  Onward,  onward,  as  the  strong  and 
resistless  tide  to  the  ocean,  is  its  unresting  movement. 
It  sweeps  along  in  solemn  silence,  with  ages  in  its  rear 
and  eternity  before  it — bearing  on  its  bosom  that  living 
burden,  which,  true  to  its  trust,  it  will  unlade  in  other 
worlds,  to  receive  in  exchange,  from  the  hand  of  God, 
its  own  dissolution,  when  its  course  is  finished,  and  its 
work  done. 

I  seem  to  hear  the  voices  of  beings  floating  on  the  sum 
mit  of  that  tide  in  all  the  variety  of  their  joy  and  woe.  I 
heard  the  shout  of  childhood  in  its  thoughtless  glee,  but 
it  suddenly  ceased.  This  was  its  year !  That  beautiful 
boy  will  be  missing  from  the  domestic  circle  when  the 
New  Year  begins.  I  saw  a  lovely  maiden — her  eye 
beamed  with  pleasure — her  cheek  was  flushed  with 
hope — her  whole  form  like  that  of  a  fairy,  as  she 
bounded  over  the  wave  in  her  frail  bark !  I  heard  a 
shriek.  She  had  sunk  to  rise  no  more  !  Old  age,  too, 
tottered  along  the  same  deck  that  was  loaded  with  in 
fancy  and  youth.  Some  were  tired  of  life.  Others 
clung  to  it  with  the  tenacity  of  desperation.  Some 
died  with  a  smile  of  glory  illumining  their  features. 
Others  exhibited  the  frightful  contortions  of  despair. 
In- many,  hope  and  horror  appeared  to  struggle  for  the 
ascendency,  but  the  contest  was  soon  decided.  There 
was  a  dash  beneath  the  wave,  and  the  parted  waters 


134  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

closing  again  locked  up  the  secret.  I  pitied  the  weep 
ers  that  survived.  They  seemed  to  long  to  die  with 
their  friends,  willing  that  this  should  be  the  last  year 
of  their  troubled  life.  A  venerable  woman,  whose 
mortal  tabernacle  had  outlived  the  vitality  of  her  mind, 
was  happy  to  obtain  her  release.  But  her  son  went 
along  with  her,  himself  the  father  of  three  manly  youths, 
all  of  whom  soon  followed.  The  seal  of  deatli  was 
placed  on  each  brow,  and  they  have  gone  to  the  land 
of  spirits. 

Oh,  Time!  if  thou  art  the  daughter  of  Love  and 
Hope,  at  whose  birth  angels  rejoiced,  thou  art  the 
mother  of  Truth  and  Grief,  and  all  inevitable  realities ; 
the  companion  of  Death,  and  the  purveyor  of  the 
Grave.  A  benevolent  God  created  Time  for  his  own 
glory,  and  for  the  good  of  all  intelligent  beings  who 
should  form  a  part  of  its  empire ;  and  the  creation  of 
man  inspired  witnessing  angels  with  the  hope  of  a 
holy  happiness,  not  inferior  to  their  own,  with  this  ex 
traordinary  addition,  that  it  was  to  be  transmitted  from 
generation  to  generation,  till  the  morning  ray  of  the 
world's  first  day  should  spread  itself  out  into  a  vast 
flood  of  glory,  and  Time  should  be  lost  in  Eternity. 
Another  year  has  accomplished  its  task  toward  this 
result. 

And  how  have  my  Sabbaths  been  spent?  What 
deeds  of  mercy  have  they  recorded  ?  What  spirit  of 
devotion  have  they  witnessed  ?  What  strains  of  holy 
praise  have  been  upborne  to  heaven  on  the  breath  of 
the  Sabbath  morning  ?  What  in  the  soft  twilight  of 
its  evening?  Ye  ministers  of  Christ,  how  have  you 
discharged  your  high  duties  on  that  day?  Have  you 


THE  SABBATHS  OF  THE  LAST  YEAR.        135 

lived  for  God  or  your  own  reputation  ?  Can  the  Lord's 
day  testify  to  the  Lord's  work  among  you  ?  Have  the 
people  of  God  been  joyful  in  the  house  of  prayer,  be 
cause  converts  were  multiplied  ?  Are  you  thankful  for 
preserving  grace  ?  Some,  alas !  of  those  once  number 
ed  with  you  have  fallen  from  their  high  estate  into  the 
horrible  pit  and  miry  clay  of  abominations,  where  they 
lie  writhing  in  the  snare  of  the  devil.  Angels  are 
ready  to  weep  at  such  atrocious  folly  and  wickedness. 
The  Church  sits  in  sackcloth.  Her  enemies  laugh. 
They  say,  "  Aha !  aha !  our  eye  hath  seen  it."  These 
sinners  against  their  own  souls,  and  all  that  is  good 
and  lovely  in  heaven  or  on  earth,  have  poured  misery 
and  anguish  into  tender  bosoms  that  loved  them,  trust 
ed  in  them,  and  lived  for  them.  The  innocent,  injured 
wrife  and  little  ones  may  truly  say :  "  You  have  fed  us 
with  the  bread  of  tears,  and  given  us  tears  to  drink  in 
great  measure."  Oh,  thou  God  of  them  that  are  more 
than  bereaved  of  husband  and  father  (death  were  a 
luxury  to  this),  shield  their  unoffending  heads  from  the 
universal  scorn  that  descends  on  the  apostate,  \vith 
whom  in  an  evil  hour  their  interests  were  linked! 
Give  them  the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning.  And  "  let  him 
that  thinketh  he  standeth  take  heed  lest  he  fall." 

There  is  one  class  of  men  at  least  that  cannot  com 
mit  a  small  sin !  Woe !  woe  to  him  that  gashes  the 
bosom  of  the  Church  !  "When  God  maketh  inquisition 
for  blood,  well  may  that  supplication  be  offered  :* "  De 
liver  me  from  blood-guiltiness,  O  God,  thou  God  of  my 
salvation." 

Our  Sabbaths,  like  the  Sibylline  leaves,  grow  more 
precious  as  they  decrease.  So  ought  we,  as  our  earthly 


GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 


years  decline,  esteem  those  that  remain  more  and  more 
valuable,  paying  "no  moment  but  for  its  worth,  and 
what  its  worth  ask  death-beds."  Our  tree  of  life  should 
bear  twelve  manner  of  fruits,  and  should  yield  her 
fruit  every  month,  so  that  at  the  close  of  the  year  it 
could  be  said,  that  we  had  "  glorified  our  Father  by 
bringing  forth  much  fruit,"  even  such  as  should  be 
"  unto  eternal  life." 

The  Sabbath,  unquestionably  divine  in  its  origin, 
should,  for  another  reason,  be  regarded  with  increasing 
reverence  and  delight.  Prelatical  men,  with  an  infat- 

>uation  almost  incredible,  are  endeavoring  to  reinflict 
the  superstitions  of  the  dark  ages  upon  the  emancipated 
church  of  Christ.  They  are  beginning  to  reload  the 
calendar  with  saints'  days  and  festivals.  Poor  plod 
ders  !  Go  to  Rome  at  once  and  worship  the  shadows 
already  sanctified  and  canonized  by  the  Queen  of  the 
Seven  Hills.  Go  and  see  how  the  shades  of  the  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  saints  overshadow  the  bright 
ness  of  the  Lord's  Day,  which  is  desecrated  and  car 
nalized  to  the  lowest  degree  of  profanation  in  all  your 
Romanized  countries.  Will  you  talk  of  the  venerable 
antiquity  of  those  rites  ?  You  will  find  a  more  ancient 
antiquity  in  heathen  lands,  among  heathen  priests. 
But  no !  we  cling  to  the  Christian's  Sabbath — sweet 
day  of  rest  from  secular  toil — of  labor  for  God.  Let 
the  true  Church  be  faithful  to  this  day,  and  she  is  safe 
— the  land  is  safe — the  world  is  safe. 


THE   SIX   MORNINGS.  137 


XXII, 

i*  morning©. 


'  The  morning  cometh."  —  ISAIAH. 

THERE  has  ever  been  connected,  in  my  mind,  some 
thing  solemn  and  interesting  with  the  idea  of  morning. 
The  morning  is  a  creation  of  God.  "  From  everlasting 
or  ever  the  earth  was,"  the  infinite  mind  conceived  the 
beautiful  idea.  The  first  expression  of  that  idea  was  at 
the  birth  of  the  material  world.  Then,  we  are  sublimely 
informed  in  the  most  ancient  book  extant  in  the  world, 
when  God  laid  the  corner-stone  of  the  earth,  "  the  morn- 
ins;  stars  sang;  together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted 

o  o         o  / 

for  joy."  That  was  indeed  a  glorious  morning.  It  was 
the  first  dawn  of  heaven's  blessed  light  upon  the  long 
night  of  chaos.  It  was  an  outflowing  of  the  infinitely 
benevolent  mind.  "  He  spake  ;  it  was  done.  He  com 
manded  ;  it  stood  fast."  Which  is  the  more  sublime, 
that  just  quoted,  or  this  :  "  God  said,  Let  LIGHT  be,  and 
light  WAS  ?"  Language  cannot  go  beyond  this.  "  And 
the  evening  and  the  morning  were  the  first  day."  That 
was  a  holy  day.  Sin  had  not  been  born.  The  Son  of 
God  had  long  anticipated  the  coming  of  this  morning, 
the  creation  of  man,  his  own  fellowship  with  humanity, 
and  the  subsequent  wonders,  which  omniscience  fore 
saw,  prophecy  foretold,  and  time  unfolded.  Read 
Proverbs  via.  23-31.  Angels  beheld  the  scene  with  a 
pure  and  vivid  delight.  But  that  morning  was  soon 


138  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

clouded,  and  a  long  dark  night  succeeded,  occasionally 
indeed  relieved  by  rays  of  the  light  from  heaven,  but 
for  the  most  part  shrouding  the  population  of  the  earth. 
Good  men  still  looked  forward  to  another  morning,  as 
the  hope  of  the  world,  and  spoke  of  a  "  Sun  of  right 
eousness  that  should  arise  with  healing  in  his  beams." 
To  the  hoping  and  the  desponding  they  continually  said, 
"  The  morning  cometh" 

That  second  morning  finally  came.  It  was  the  morn 
ing  of  THE  WORLD'S  REDEMPTION.  The  Son  of  God  was 
born.  There  was  a  jubilee  in  heaven.  The  event  was 
celebrated  on  the  plains  of  Bethlehem.  Earth  rejoiced. 
Angels  descended  to  mingle  their  congratulations  with 
the  children  of  men  on  this  auspicious  event,  and  sang 
in  their  ears  some  of  heaven's  sweetest  swelling  an 
thems.  "  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest ;  on  earth  peace, 
good-will  to  men."  They  came  from  afar  to  witness 
the  scenes,  and  guided  by  a  miraculous  star,  found  him 
of  whom  the  prophet  spake  when  he  said,  "  Unto  us  a 
child  is  born,  unto  us  a  son  is  given,  and  his  name  shall 
be  called  Wonderful,  Counsellor,  the  Father  of  Eter 
nity,  the  Prince  of  Peace !"  Wonderful  indeed ! 
Prophecy  was  now  fulfilled.  Types  were  accomplished. 
The  pillars  of  superstition  trembled.  The  voice  of  the 
oracles  wras  silent.  The  foundations  of  idolatry  quaked. 
The  thrones  of  earth  shook  with  fear.  Kings  were 
troubled,  and  all  their  subjects  with  them. — Matt.  ii.  3. 
But  the  good  and  the  holy  rejoiced.  Their  souls  mag 
nified  the  Lord,  and  hailed  the  advent  of  God  their  Sa 
viour.  The  hearts  of  the  young  leaped  for  gladness. 
The  aged  died  for  very  joy.  Now  was  come  salvation. 
Then  indeed,  O  Zion,  "thy  light  broke  forth  as  the 


THE  SIX   MORNINGS.  139 

morning"  Thou  didst  "  arise  and  shine,  thy  light  being 
come,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  having  risen  upon 
thee."  Who  but  the  God  incarnate  would  presume  to 
say,  "  I  am  the  light  of  the  world  ?"  For  a  season  that 
celestial  orb  was  quenched  in  preternatural  night.  The 
hopes  of  the  pious  sunk.  The  disciples  despaired,  but 
soon  it  reappeared  on  the  morning  of  the  resurrection. 

This  was  the  third  morning  of  which  I  speak.  The 
Prince  of  Peace  was  imprisoned  in  the  tomb.  The 
hope  of  a  lost  world  was  inhumed  in  that  sepulcher. 
The  enemies  of  God  had  sealed  it.  The  armed  guards 
of  hell  surrounded  it.  To  keep  that  prisoner  secure  was 
vital  to  the  cause  of  Satan,  who  had  thus  far  succeeded 
in  betraying,  condemning  and  executing  the  guiltless 
Lamb  of  God.  To  release  him  was  indispensable  to  the 
completion  of  the  mighty  work  of  redemption.  Here, 
then,  was  a  crisis  of  eternal  moment  to  millions  of  im 
mortal  beings.  Here  was  a  point  of  time  in  which  were 
concentrated  the  interests  of  myriads  of  the  human  race. 
Towards  that  lowly  sepulcher  the  eyes  of  all  beings 
were  turned  from  every  quarter  of  the  universal  empire 
of  Jehovah.  A  transaction  was  impending,  which 
would  arrest  the  attention  and  enchain  the  wonder  of 
heaven,  earth,  and  hell.  The  foundation  or  the  fall  of 
an  empire  were  a  trifle  to  this,  for  the  corner-stone  of 
ETERNAL  REDEMPTION  was  now  to  be  laid. — Ps.  cxviii. 
22-24.  At  length  the  appointed  hour  arrived.  The 
morning  of  that  memorable  day  dawned.  An  angel 
descended  from  heaven.  He  alighted  at  the  tomb. 
The  ground  trembled  beneath  his  tread.  The  guards 
fell  prostrate  before  him.  They  could  not  look  upon  a 
countenance  which,  though  lovely  as  a  vision  of  heaven 


140  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

to  the  holy,  was  terrific  as  the  lightning  to  the  wicke 
He  broke  the  seal  of  the  tomb,  calmly  rolling  away  the 
stone  from  its  place,  and  reverently  waited  till  the  Lord 
of  angels  came  forth.  He  came !  Heaven  shouted  for 
joy.  Hell  groaned  from  her  deepest  caverns.  The  bat 
tle  was  now  fought,  the  victory  won.  From  this,  the 
lowest  depth  of  his  humiliation,  the  conquering  Saviour 
rose,  never  more  to  die !  There  was  power,  calm,  deep, 
unimpassioned,  irresistible !  The  last  hope  of  the  apos 
tate  enemies  of  God  then  expired.  The  first  hope  then 
kindled  into  a  deathless  flame  in  the  bosoms  of  his 
hitherto  desponding  friends.  The  darkness  was  past. 
The  day  had  dawned.  The  morning  of  the  world's  Sab 
bath  had  come,  and  He,  who  was  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Life,  claimed  it  as  his  own. 

But  there  was  another  bright  morning  not  far  distant 
— that  of  the  first  great  effusion  of  the  Spirit.  It  was 
seven  weeks,  or  fifty  days  after  the  preceding  event, 
that  the  humble,  hated  followers  of  Jesus  were  met  to 
promote  his  cause.  They  had  been  praying  much. 
Perhaps  they  spent  all  the  previous  night  in  prayer, 
having  assembled,  tradition  says,  in  the  house  of  Mary, 
the  mother  of  John,  on  Mount  Sion.  It  was  the  Sab 
bath,  and  at  the  hour  of  nine  in  the  morning,  a  sudden 
and  sublime  sound  was  heard ;  the  place  was  filled  with 
a  holy  influence ;  God  the  Spirit  was  there ;  the  tongues 
of  cloven  flame  sat  upon  them ;  they  preached  with  a 
fluency  and  power  that  astonished  all;  the  hearts  of 
thousands  were  convulsed  with  spiritual  distress ;  it  was 
the  first  Gospel  revival;  it  was  a  glorious  morning! 
That  day  eternal  life  dawned  on  multitudes  of  individual 
souls.  That  was  a  blessed  day  for  the  Church  of  God. 


I 

THE   SIX   MOKNINGS.  141 

Its  resplendent  light  will  be  reflected  across  the  sea  of 
time  down  to  its  latest  point,  till  time  shall  be  no  longer. 
The  first  fruits  of  redemption  were  then  gathered.  Je 
sus  and  the  Crucifixion — Jesus  and  the  Resurrection, 
were  the  themes  of  the  burning  eloquence  of  those  de 
voted  preachers.  Then,  too,  prophecy  was  fulfilled, 
even  that  which  had  been  uttered  eight  hundred  years 
before,  by  one  of  the  Lord's  prophets. — Joel  ii.  28,  32. 
Four  mornings,  then,  are  past :  Creation,  Redemp 
tion,  Resurrection,  and  Regeneration ;  these  are  matters 
of  sacred  history,  and  of  everlasting  recollection.  Two 
are  yet  to  come,  the  morning  of  the  millennium  and  of 
the  general  resuwection.  The  first  is  at  hand.  The  way 
is  preparing.  "  The  kingdom  and  the  greatness  of  the 
kingdom  will  soon  be  given  to  the  people  of  the  saints 
of  the  Most  High."  The  "  sure  word  of  prophecy," 
which  never  failed  as  to  the  past,  will  not  fail  as  to  the 
future.  "  The  morning  cometh."  There  is  the  begin 
ning  of  great  changes.  Many  are  running  to  and  fro, 
and  knowledge  is  increased.  The  Bible  will  soon  be 
read  in  every  language.  The  power  of  the  press  will 
be  mightily  unfolded.  That  irrepressible  flame,  the 
love  of  Christ,  which  stimulates  the  soul  of  the  mission 
ary  to  such  deeds  of  noble  daring  and  holy  suffering,  is 
spreading  from  heart  to  heart.  The  materials  are  pre 
paring  for  such  a  spiritual  temple,  as  in  its  glory  will 
transcend  every  structure  that  God  has  ever  reared  on 
earth.  Its  light  will  be  not  merely  as  "  the  light  of  the 
sun  compared  with  that  of  the  moon,"  but  as  the  light 
of  seven  suns,  constellated  in  a  glorious  firmament,  to 
show  forth  the  wisdom,  power,  and  love  of  God  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth.  It  was  for  the  unfolding  of  the 


142  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

scenes  of  that  morning  that  the  sublimities  of  creati 
itself  had  their  birth  (Eev.  iv.  11) ;  that  Redemption 
was  finished  on  Calvary,  and  that  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Life  triumphed  over  the  grave,  for  the  Lord  alone 
shall  be  exalted  in  that  day ;  in  the  greatness  of  his 
strength  will  he  lead  captivity  captive,  and  distribute 
spiritual  gifts  among  the  regenerated  population  of  this 
world,  like  the  drops  of  the  morning  dew.  Come  then, 
illustrious  day,  when  the  covenant  people,  though  now 
banished  and  scattered,  shall  be  "received  again,"  and 
be  as  "  life  from  the  dead"  to  the  Gentiles,  "  and  the 
Gentiles  shall  come  to  thy  light,  and  kings  to  the  bright 
ness  of  thy  rising." 

The  LAST  MORNING  which  will  dawn  on  this  sublunary 
world  will  be  that  of  the  GENERAL  RESURRECTION.  Dark 
will  be  the  night,  long  will  be  the  sleep  of  the  silent 
grave.  The  moldering  generations  of  the  human  race 
will  have  reposed  for  ages  in  their  deep  oblivion  beneath 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  But  above  that  surface  the 
busy  scenes  of  life  will  have  still  been  enacted.  Trace 
the  retrospective  history  of  man  through  any  given  pe 
riod  of  time.  Wars  raged — empires  fell — monarchs 
were  dethroned — garments  were  rolled  in  blood.  Or 
the  arts  of  peace  prevailed.  Science  flourished — litera 
ture  delighted — invention  astonished — wealth  flowed 
like  a  river  of  gold — the  luxurious  reveled  in  their 
pleasures — the  infidel  sneered — the  atheist  scoffed; 
they  asked,  "  Where  is  the  promise  of  his  coming  ?"  As 
in  the  degenerate  days  of  Noah,  as  in  the  fearful,  fatal 
days  of  declining  Jerusalem,  they  will  be  "  eating  and 
drinking,  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage,"  forgetting 
God  and  walking  after  their  own  lusts  ;  the  rich  period 


THE    SIX    MORNINGS.  143 

of  heaven's  mercy  and  of  earth's  holiness  will  have 
past ;  the  fury  of  Satan  will  again  have  broken  forth, 
and  the  armed  legions  of  hell  will  have  rushed  to  their 
last  desperate  struggle  against  the  throne  of  God,  when 
the  angel  standing  upon  the  sea  and  upon  the  earth, 
shall  lift  his  hand  to  heaven,  and  swear  that  there  shall 
be  time  no  longer!  Then  will  the  archangel's  trump 
sound  its  loud  and  resistless  summons  through  all  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  dominions  of  death.  The 
graves  will  open.  The  dead  will  rise.  Saints  will  re 
joice.  Sinners  will  tremble.  The  sun  will  be  turned 
to  blackness — the  moon  to  blood — the  stars  will  fall  from 
heaven — the  powers  of  heaven  will  be  shaken.  The 
knell  of  time  will  be  tolled  to  listening  worlds.  The 
fires  of  the  final  conflagration  will  begin  to  burn. 
Shouts  of  joy  will  greet  the  second  advent  of  the  Son 
of  God.  Shrieks  of  horror  will  proclaim  the  enthrone 
ment  of  the  Judge,  to  pronounce  the  last  judgment  of 
the  court  of  heaven  on  the  guilty,  the  impenitent,  the 
unpardoned.  Oh,  what  a  day !  "What  a  scene  !  Here 
all  description  fails.  All  conception  tires  and  faints ! 
But  this  we  know.  That  will  be  the  morning  of  an 
everlasting  day  to  the  people  of  God,  but  of  clouds  and 
thick  darkness  to  the  wicked.  Impenitent  sinner !  By 
all  that  is  true  and  all  that  is  terrible  in  that  impend 
ing  day,  I  entreat  you  instantly  to  flee  to  the  Lord  Je 
sus  Christ  for  eternal  salvation!  "Behold  the  day 
cometh  that  shall  burn  as  an  oven,  and  all  the  proud, 
and  all  that  do  wickedly  shall  be  stubble,  and  the  day 
that  cometh  shall  burn  them  up,  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
that  it  shall  leave  them  neither  root  nor  branch !" 


144  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 


XXIII, 
(JTlje  Spirit  of 


THEKE  is  in  man  a  something  which  responds  with 
various  emotion  to  the  influence  of  that  wThich  has  been 
called  the  Spirit  of  Beauty.  This  mysterious  influence 
may  flow  from  something  without  him,  or  it  may  arise, 
as  by  the  instinct  of  genius,  within  his  own  bosom,  stir 
ring  that  internal  deep  which  the  line  of  created  thought 
has  not  yet  fathomed. 

The  elements  of  this  spirit,  however  ethereal,  are  real  ; 
if  evanescent  in  one  form,  they  are  reproduced  in  an 
other  ;  exciting  the  imagination,  elevating  the  tone  of 
moral  feeling,  and  often,  as  sweet  music  falls  upon  the 
ear,  leaving  the  most  delicious  sensations  around  the 
heart.  A  charm  is  breathed  through  the  soul,  which, 
if  it  does  not  extinguish  the  consciousness  of  the  mor 
tality  that  surrounds  it,  creates  a  higher  sense  of  the 
spiritual  destiny  that  awaits  it.  Let  him  who  would 
feel  the  power  of  this  influence  walk  abroad  in  a  calm 
summer's  night,  till  he  stands  alone  in  the  great  temple 
of  nature,  a  serene  silent  worshiper.  The  spirit  of 
beauty  will  meet  him  !  It  will  smile  upon  him,  as  it 
did  on  the  sweet  Psalmist  of  Israel,  from  the  starry 
heavens.  It  will  recall  the  forms  of  those  he  loved  — 
forms  now  sleeping  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth  on  which 
he  treads.  It  will  rise  before  him  in  every  object  that 
is  linked  with  some  tender  association.  His  heart  trem 
bles  with  delight. 


THE    SPIRIT    OF   BEAUTY.  145 

Let  us  now  change  the  scene.  It  is  morning — morn 
ing  on  the  hills.  The  light  is  dawning  up  that  decliv 
ity,  where  the  visitor  often  sported  away  so  many  of 
the  rosy  hours  of  childhood.  Years  of  sorrow  may  have 
intervened,  deadening  the  primitive  hopes  and  chilling 
the  early  aspirations  of  his  heart.  But  behold  the  spirit 
of  beauty  is  there,  unsullied  by  the  storms  of  life,  un- 
decayed  by  the  lapse  of  time  ;  beckoning  him  near  her, 
as  she  sits  enthroned  amid  the  woods  and  waters. 
There  amid  those  shades  he  reclined  his  youthful  limbs, 
when  the  very  sense  of  existence  was  bliss.  In  that 
clear  stream  he  slaked  his  burning  thirst.  Those  scenes 
he  now  lives  over  again.  He  repeats  the  ceremony, 
and  it  fills  his  soul  with  joy.  Beautiful  land !  he  ex 
claims.  ~N"o  other  spot  of  earth  is  so  fair. 

There  are  dreams  of  the  poet,  in  which  the  same 
"heavenly  maid"  appears,  revealing  thoughts  and  im 
ages  reserved  for  a  chosen  few.  It  is  the  secondary  in 
spiration  of  man. 

*  '  Egeria !  sweet  creation  of  some  heart 

Which  found  no  mortal  resting-place  so  fair 

Aa  thine  ideal  breast —        *         *         * 

Thou  wert  a  beautiful  thought  and  softly  bodied  forth." 

It  is  the  prerogative  of  genius  to  be  highly  associated. 
The  rank  which  it  holds  is  not  an  artificial  elevation. 
It  is  the  gift  of  God.  It  is  an  order  instituted  by  the 
Author  of  intellect.  It's  secrets  have  not  only  not  been 
communicated,  but  they  are  incommunicable.  Of  the 
millions  who  eat  food  and  breathe  air,  a  few  only  are 
admitted  into  this  order.  To  them  the  "  sweet  creations" 
are  revealed.  In  them  the  "beautiful  thought"  glows. 

i 


146  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

As  the  prophet  saw  the  winged  horses  and  glittering 
chariots  of  the  hosts  in  the  air,  invisible  to  others,  so 
to  their  vision  is  imparted  the  wonders  of  the  world  of 
imagination. 

Of  one  of  these  peers  of  the  realm  of  imagination — 
Spenser — it  has  been  said  by  another — Campbell — ""We 
shall  nowhere  find  more  airy  and  expansive  images  of 
visionary  things,  a  sweeter  tone  of  sentiment,  or  a  finer 
flush  in  the  colors  of  language,  than  in  this  Rubens  of 
English  poetry."  To  such  the  spirit  of  beauty  appears, 
sometimes  when  wrapped  in  the  abstractions  of  poetic 
meditation  at  home,  sometimes  when  making  their  ex 
cursions  abroad.  They  find  her  amid  congenial  locali 
ties — as  they  wander  by  the  margin  of  the  glassy  lake 
— or  toil  up  the  mountain  steep — or  gaze  on  the  many- 
colored  heavens — or  repose  amid  the  decaying  monu 
ments  of  ancient  art,  or  contemplate  the  "  human  face 
divine,"  especially  in  that  softer  mold,  where  Milton — 
as  in  his  Eve — beheld  a  charm,  beyond  the  reach  of  art, 
and  a  grace  to  be  sketched  only  by  his  immortal  jjpncil, 
That  modern  bard,  who  lingered  amid  the  ruins  of 
Rome,  "  the  Niobe  of  nations,"  till  the  fountain  of  in 
spiration  within  him  gushed  forth,  scattering  its  golden 
spray  on  every  column,  arch,  temple,  and  tomb  that  had 
been  spared  by  the  tooth  of  Time,  might  have  charmed 
the  very  spirit  of  beauty  herself  in  such  scenes,  but  for 
that  chronic  scowl  which  disfigured  the  face  of  his  ge 
nius.  Not  in  vain  was  she  courted  amid  Italian  scenes 
by  a  true  lover,  the  author  of  Human  Life,*  in  whose 
poetry  there  is  such  a  quiet  depth  of  sensibility  and  re 
flection,  as  to  give  back  with  photographic  exactness 
*  Rogers. 


TIIK    SPIRIT    OF    BEAUTY.  14:7 

the  images  of  nature  without  a  ruffle  or  a  stain.  And 
that  popular  couplet  is  now  running  the  whole  circle  of 
the  English  language : 

"  Campbell's  no  more — his  elder,  Rogers,  lives : 
Thus  HOPE  departs — while  MEMORY  survives." 

And  yet  hope  has  not  departed.  The  spirit  of  beauty 
lives  in  the  Pleasures  of  Hope,  as  it  does  in  the  Pleas 
ures  of  Memory.  The  forms  of  the  authors  must  be 
folded  in  the  melancholy  drapery  of  the  tomb,  but  their 
works  live.  Over  them  death  hath  no  power — the  grave 
no  supremacy.  And  among  the  pleasures  of  memory 
will  be  this — that  we  have  read  the  work  of  that  name ; 
among  those  of  hope,  that  some  other  Campbell  will  arise 
to  hold,  like  him,  communion  with  a  muse,  that  shall 
dictate  no  line,  which  "  dying  he  would  wish  to  blot." 

Nor  less  earnestly  does  the  painter  realize  the  pres 
ence  of  that  power  which  comes  to  men  in  so  many 
forms.  If  his  be  not  pre-eminently  a  beautiful  art,  the 
epithet  is  unmeaning.  In  the  profound  musings  of  his 
genius,  he  perceives  qualities  in  things  which  escape 
the  observation  of  the  superficial  or  unpracticed  mind. 
The  spirit  of  beauty  dwells  in  his  thoughts — teaches  him 
how  to  combine — to  contrast — to  group — to  color — to 
impress  the  very  image  of  thought  on  the  faces  of  the 
canvas — and  as  if  by  miracle  to  breathe  itself  into  the 
inanimate  figures  that  rise  under  his  plastic  hand.  So 
the  sculptor  transmits  through  ages  the  enduring  me 
morials  of  his  genius.  But  this  he  could  not  do  were 
not  that  genius  so  conversant  with  the  spirit  of  beauty, 
that  with  wonderful  skill  it  guides  the  hand  that  chisels 
out  those  varying  forms. 


148  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS 

It  abounds  in  the  material  creation,  and  lience  the 
genius  of  poetry  has  not  failed  to  scan  this  department 
of  the  works  of  God  with  a  glowing  eye  and  a  burning 
heart.  The  spirit  of  beauty  dwells  in  the  flower — hence 
by  a  universal  law  of  the  imagination,  it  is  claimed  as 
one  of  the  materials  out  of  which  the  web  of  poesy  is 
constructed.  This  can  excite  no  surprise  when  it  is  con 
sidered  how  fine  is  the  combination  of  properties  in  this 
little  gem  of  creation.  Grace  of  form  is  finely  developed 
— brilliancy  or  blandness  of  color  strikes  the  eye — the 
power  of  fragrance  often  wakens  another  sense,  and  then, 
more  than  all,  the  disposition  of  parts — the  symmetrical 
distribution  of  all  the  constituent  attributes,  together 
with  their  endless  variety,  reveal  the  loveliest  traits  of 
beauty.  And  that  beauty  awakens  a  delicious  senti 
ment,  as  well  in  the  mind  of  a  child  as  in  that  of  a  phi 
losopher.  The  one  enjoys  the  rapture  of  a  rose  even 
more  than  the  scientific  botanist,  who  can  invent  names 
and  demonstrate  properties.  The  most  scanty  reader  of 
poetry  must  have  observed  how  strong  and  universal  is 
the  impression  produced  on  the  poetic  imagination  by 
the  rose,  the  lily,  or  any  similar  development  of  nature, 
which  appeals  to  the  sense  of  enjoyment  in  man.  This 
fact,  and  myriads  like  it,  compel  us  to  exclaim,  How 
much  natural  beauty  survives  the  moral  desolation  of 
this  world !  While  the  heart  of  the  great  Teacher  of 
men  wept  out  its  sorrows  over  the  ruins  of  humanity, 
his  pure  and  spotless  imagination  drank  with  delight 
the  spirit  of  beauty  in  the  flower  of  the  field.  "  Con 
sider"  said  he,  "  the  lilies  of  the  field.  And  then  he 
recalls  the  admiring  view  of  his  hearers  from  the  splen 
dor  of  the  imperial  robe  to  the  superior  beauty  of  that 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   BEAUTY.  149 

little  gem  on  the  bosom  of  nature,  too.  exquisite  in  its 
construction  and  coloring  to  be  successfully  imitated  by 
the  highest  achievements  of  art.  "  Solomon  in  all  his 
glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these !" 

Among  the  endowments  of  a  pre-eminent  genius  we 
find  that  conceptions  of  the  loftiest  sublimity  are  asso 
ciated  with  those  of  soft  and  tender  beauty.  The  page 
of  Milton  presents  one  of  these  high  examples.  That  of 
David  another,  whose  muse  rose  to  regions  of  the  sub- 
limest  thought  with  a  grandeur  equalled  only  by  the 
gracefulness  with  which  she  descended  to  the  minuter 
beauties  of  the  world  below.  This  is  the  true  harmony 
of  our  imaginative  being.  It  is  a  kind  of  symphony  of 
the  intellectual  and  moral  powers,  which  elevates  the 
soul  to  high  communion  with  its  Author.  If  there  be 
few  who  can  execute  such  compositions,  what  multi 
tudes  can  enjoy  them !  If  it  be  given  to  but  few  to  de 
velop  the  spirit  of  beauty,  how  many  are  delighted 
with  that  development !  We  need  not  even  go  beyond 
the  limits  of  sweet  domestic  life.  The  bounding  foot 
step  of  the  little  cherub  that  darts  across  the  floor  at 
tracts  your  attention.  Look  at  that  rosy  cheek — that 
dimpled  smile — that  kindling  eye — even  that  auburn 
curl  wrought  into  its  graceful  curve  by  the  fingers  of 
nature.  There  is  separate  beauty  in  each ;  but  when 
combined,  how  fine  the  impression !  It  is  enough  to 
exhilarate  even  the  spirit  of  a  cynic.  If  to  all  this  we 
add  the  charm  of  resemblance,  the  effect  is  greatly 
heightened. 

Suppose  now  the  mother  of  that  little  child  enters,  and 
you  have  never  before  seen  her.  There  is  no  need  to 
inquire  who  she  is.  The  one  is  the  miniature  reflection 


150  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

of  the  other.  There  is  not  only  a  transcription  of  the 
maternal  features,  but  there  is  a  transmission  of  the  very 
spirit  and  expression  of  the  one  to  the  other.  It  is  one 
of  the  delicate  and  beautiful  achievements  of  nature, 
and  the  artist,  with  instinctive  sagacity,  has  not  failed  to 
seize  upon  it,  and  convert  it  into  a  triumph  of  his  art. 
Not  the  painter  alone,  who  loves  thus  to  copy  nature, 
but  the  poet  also,  whose  imaginative  eye  instantly  dis 
cerns  the  beautiful  in  objects,  whether  it  be  positive  or 
comparative,  has  illustrated  this  subject.  If  to  these 
ideas  be  added  another — to  shade  the  picture — the  idea 
of  widowhood — if  that  little  one  be  fatherless,  then  the 
whole  assumes  a  pensive  cast  and  coloring  which  aug 
ments  the  power  of  the  impression.  Scenes  like  these 
awoke  the  most  tender  strains  of  Mrs.  Hemans,  whose 
muse  loved  to  retire  from  the  broad  sunlight  of  the  im 
agination,  and  amid  the  solemn  shadows  of  the  grove 
or  the  glade,  dwell  on  thoughts  as  solemn,  yet  impas 
sioned  like  her  own  genius.  To  a  deceased  child  : 

"  No  bitter  tears  for  tbee  be  shed 
Blossom  of  being !     Vision  of  beauty  • 
Whose  all  of  life — a  rosy  ray, 
Blushed  into  dawn  and  passed  away." 

The  fable  of  Niobe  has  awakened  the  power  of  the 
chisel,  which  imparted  new  beauty  to  the  main  thought 
— maternal  grief — while  the  cause  of  it  is  kept  out  of 
view.  Poetry  has  given  an  awful  expansion  to  this 
thought  in  those  well-known  lines,  applied  to  Rome  : 

"  The  Niobe  of  NATIONS  !  there  she  stands, 
Childless  and  crownless  in  her  voiceless  woe  ; 
An  empty  urn  •within  her  withered  hands." 


BEAUTY   AND   GOODNESS.  151 

The  same  poet,  in  describing  the  cataract  of  Yelino, 
which  of  course  embraces  chiefly  the  elements  of  the 
sublime,  though  at  an  humble  distance  from  our  own 
mighty  Niagara,  does  not  forget  to  paint  the  rainbow, 
that  arches  the  tremendous  surge,  like  "  Hope  upon  a 
death-bed,"  whose  hues  never  fade,  whose  dyes  are 
never  washed  out  by  the  flood  of  waters.  O,  had  he, 
that  strange  Byron,  who  had  such  a  keen  perception  of 
the  grand  and  the  lovely  in  nature  and  in  art,  but  ele 
vated  his  soul  to  higher  themes — had  he  but  wet  his 
burning  lips  in  that  fountain  of  Siloa,  fast  by  the  oracle 
of  God,  how  would  the  fever  of  his  soul  been  cooled  and 
cured !  To  what  summits  of  regal  power  in  the  empire 
of  mind — of  song — of  hallowed  intellect,  might  he  not 
have  ascended !  But  see  him  like  "  Archangel  ruined." 
And  yet  the  spirit  of  beauty  lives  in  those  works,  and 
those  alone,  which  are  untainted  with  the  feculent  im 
purities  that  have  turned  the  others  to  putrescence. 


XXIV, 

cmfc  (0>00&ne30. 

AMID  all  the  deformity  of  this  world,  there  is  much 
beautv.    It  greets  us  at  our  entrance  into  it,  even  be- 

\j  t 

fore  we  have  power  to  appreciate  it,  as  in  a  mother's 
smile,  itself  the  expression  of  perhaps  the  deepest  emo 
tion  of  which  our  moral  nature  is  capable ;  and  a  fa 
ther's  joy,  which  is  awakened  by  the  new  fact  of  our  in- 


152  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

dividual  existence.  A  happy  constitution  it  is,  that  to 
the  child  the  mother  always  looks  beautiful,  unless 
she  violates  some  precept  of  that  decalogue  of  affections 
which  the  finger  of  God  has  inscribed  on  the  "  fleshly 
tables  of  the  heart."  Thus  it  is  that  love  and  beauty 
(not  in  their  romantic  sense)  are  inseparably  associated 
in  certain  forms  of  our  existence. 

But  it  is  not  alone  in  the  exercise  of  the  higher  and 
deeper  affections  of  humanity  that  we  are  to  seek  for 
the  beautiful.  The  material  world  that  surrounds  us 
overflows  with  it.  Take,  for  instance,  the  early  dawn 
of  a  summer's  day,  that  period  of  the  morning  which 
precedes  the  outbursting  of  the  splendors  of  the  sun ; 
or  select,  if  you  please,  the  hour  of  "  dewy  eve,"  when 
that  same  luminary  has  "  bathed  his  burning  axle"  in 
the  deep  waters  of  the  Pacific.  Could  mortal  pencil 
ever  approach  the  execution  of  such  panoramic  scenes 
of  beauty?  All,  all  is  original.  All  else  is  copy. 
Every  where  the  difference  between  the  finite  and  the 
infinite  meets  the  mind  of  man.  Now,  the  simple  pur 
pose  of  lighting  the  world  might  have  been  accom 
plished  without  so  lavish  a  display  of — I  had  almost  said 
— kaleidoscopic  beauty.  But  God  delights  in  benevo 
lence,  as  well  as  in  beauty,  physical,  intellectual,  and 
spiritual.  Hence,  the  union  of  beauty  and  goodness, 
in  so  many  of  his  individual  acts  and  fixed  constitu 
tions. 

Now,  to  appreciate  duly  this  combination,  as  well  as 
to  enjoy  fully  the  natural  scenes  which  are  evidential 
of  it,  a  man  must  be  in  a  healthy  state.  If  disease  is 
wearing  out  his  system,  he  will  have  little  relish  for 
such  objects.  They  are  but  mockery  to  a  dying  man, 


BEAUTY    AND   GOODNESS.  153 

unless,  indeed,  the  religious  principle  is  triumphant 
within  him.  If  he  be  a  man  of  diseased  principles  and 
profligate  practices ;  if  there  be  not  a  healthy  tone  of 
the  moral  system,  he  is  not  the  man  to  look  on  the 
displays  of  goodness  and  beauty.  A  drunkard,  a  gam 
bler,  or  a  sluggard  of  any  kind,  will  not  rise  to  behold 
the  dawning  glories  of  the  East ;  and,  if  he  did,  would  not 
enjoy  them.  That  deprivation  is  one  of  the  penalties 
annexed  to  his  transgressions. 

So,  for  aught  we  perceive,  all  the  purposes  of  a  flow 
er  might  have  been  answered  without  investing  it  with 
such  varied  and  exquisite  beauty,  and  equally  without 
adding  to  it  that  delightfully  mysterious  fragrance,  so 
exciting  to  the  appropriate  organs,  and  often  awaken 
ing,  particularly  in  the  female  bosom,  emotions  of  the 
highest  enthusiasm.  Is  it  because  of  her  superior  pu 
rity  ?  Or  is  there  among  the  inward  and  invisible  ele 
ments  of  that  soul  a  gentleness,  a  beauty,  a  hidden  fra 
grance,  that  corresponds,  and,  so  to  speak,  congenializes 
with  the  outward  works  of  God  ?  I  have  sometimes 
stood  and  admired  the  passionate  fondness  of  a  child 
for  flowers.  The  rapture  of  that  little  girl,  in  her  young 
and  guileless  being,  was  perfectly  contagious,  and  I 
found  my  own  heart  dancing  with  a  sympathetic  joy. 
I  was  sure  that  in  her  all  was  natural.  An  experienced 
beauty  might  mingle  some  airs  of  affectation  with  her 
soft  eulogies  on  the  most  beautiful  portion  of  the  vege 
table  creation,  as  there  are  those  in  fashionable  life  who 
would  not  on  any  account  be  thought  destitute  of  a 
taste  for,  the  Fine  Arts,  and  so  purchase  and  admire 
pictures  and  statuary,  without  really  possessing  any 
judgment,  if  they  have  any  pleasure  in  such  matters. 

7* 


154  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

But  a  child  revels  with  unsophisticated  emotions  in 
this  enchanting  region  of  Nature's  great  empire  ;  wor 
ships  with  a  pure  and  burning  devotion,  in  this  part  of 
her  holy  temple.  Yet  it  cannot  be  proved  that  such 
sources  of  pleasure  are  essential  to  the  existence  and 
the  progress  of  childhood.  But  they  are  essential  to 
the  more  perfect  development  of  the  benevolence  of 
God,  delighting  as  it  does  to  associate  itself  with  the 
forms  of  natural  beauty  in  order  to  promote  and  exalt 
the  happiness  even  of  a  child. 

Nor  should  any  one  presume  to  interfere  with  that 
felicity.  A  crusty  old  bachelor,  or  a  childless  husband 
(a  far  superior  character),  might  be  disgusted  with  an 
enthusiasm  for  which  he  had  no  sympathy,  but  let  him 
take  care  how  he  offends  one  of  these  little  ones.  There 
are  guardian  spirits  ministering  to  them,  invisible,  but 
real ;  if  doubted  by  men,  yet  accredited  in  the  court  of 
heaven,  and  acting  under  the  highest  regal  authority. 
"In  heaven  they  do  always  behold  the  face  of  my 
Father  who  is  in  heaven,"  said  He,  whose  humanity, 
shrining  the  Divinity,  was  upheld  and  sanctified  by  that 
sublime  and  mysterious  connection,  while  it  graced  the 
ungrateful  world  that  scorned  and  crucified  him.  He, 
in  the  days  of  his  flesh,  stooped  with  a  profound  and 
graceful  tenderness  to  the  little  ones,  and  mingled  his 
own  crystal  sympathies  with  the  spirit  of  childhood.  He 
rebuked  the  temper  that  would  repel  therri  from  the 
charities  of  Christianity.  He  spoke  words  for  them 
that  will  never  be  forgotten  through  all  the  lapse  of 
time. 

Nor  was  the  illustrious  teacher  of  men  indifferent  to 
the  voices  of  nature  around  him.  The  quiet  beauty  of 


BEAUTY   AND   GOODNESS.  155 

the  lily  charmed  that  imagination,  which  ever  main 
tained  a  perfectly  harmonious  relation  to  the  other 
powers  of  the  mind,  was  never  deceived  by  the  ever- 
shifting  illusions  that  are  accustomed  to  play  around 
it,  and  never  exaggerated  the  pictures  it  drew  of  the 
character,  the  state,  or  destiny  of  man.  All  earthly 
glory  was  less  captivating  to  that  rightly  constituted 
imagination,  than  the  lovely,  spotless  hue  of  the  flower 
of  the  field.  And  yet  this  is  surpassed  by  the  beauty 
of  virtue — of  the  graces  of  the  spirit. 

"  Is  aught  so  fair 

In  all  the  dewy  landscape  of  the  spring. 
In  the  bright  eye  of  Hesper,  or  the  morn ; 
In  Nature's  fairest  forms,  is  aught  so  fair, 
As  virtuous  friendship  ?" 

The  features  of  the  external  world,  whatever  perma 
nence  they  seem  to  have,  are  all  to  be  erased,  all  to  be 
extinguished,  in  the  final  "  wreck"  of  matter  and  crush 
of  worlds.  But  moral  qualities  are  in  their  nature  sem 
piternal.  Moral  and  spiritual  beauty  is  imperishable ! 
This  is  goodness — this  is  holiness — the  crown  and  the 
gem  of  the  Divinity  itself.  Was  ever  a  more  impres 
sive  prayer  offered  than  that  of  the  exquisite  poet,  as 
well  as  the  splendid  monarch  of  Israel :  "  The  BEAUTY 
of  the  Lord  our  God  be  upon  us !"  That  would  be 
beauty  worthy  of  the  muse  of  the  immortal  Milton,  or 
the  burning  pencil  of  the  seraphic  Isaiah. 

We  may  now  take  what  writers  on  the  Philosophy 
of  the  Moral  Feelings  have,  by  a  metaphorical  license, 
called  the  ~beauiy  of  sound.  It  involves  the  power  of 
music  in  all  its  variations  and  capabilities  of  irnpres- 


156  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

sion ;  whether  that  music  emanate  from  living  mind  or 
inanimate  matter.  Besides  its  original  and  essential 
quality  of  producing  emotion  by  the  power  of  associa 
tion,  it  wonderfully  augments  the  effect  on  the  suscep 
tibilities  of  the  interior  man.  There  is  a  soft  and  sweet 
tone  of  music  in  the  flow  of  a  rivulet,  amid  rural  scen 
ery,  beneath  the  sunlight  of  a  bright  summer's  day ; 
but  how  are  our  emotions  deepened  and  strengthened, 
when,  at  the  hour  of  midnight,  we  hear  that  same 
stream,  after  having  enlarged  its  channel  and  acceler 
ated  its  momentum,  plunging  over  a  precipice,  or  an 
artificial  embankment ;  acquiring  at  this  point  the  char 
acter  of  a  waterfall,  one  of  the  most  interesting  objects 
in  nature !  A  feeling  of  sublimity  is  now  added  to  the 
state  of  the  mind,  and  the  emotion  becomes  complete. 
The  elements  of  darkness,  obscurity,  and  silence  are 
introduced,  and  seem  nearly  to  absorb  the  sense  of 
beauty.  The  soul  almost  instinctively  raises  itself  to 
God,  "  who  maketh  darkness  his  pavilion,  and  the  thick 
darkness  his  swaddling  band."  That  sound  seems  the 
organ-dirge  of  Nature,  over  the  temporary  death  of 
the  inanimate  world.  Less  sad  and  solemn,  but  still 
tenderly  pensive,  are  the  notes  of  the  night-bird,  fa 
miliar  to  New  England  ears,  heard  in  the  gray  twilight 
of  summer,  as  he  now  ascends,  greeting  the  lofty 
regions  of  the  air  with  his  monotone — a  not  very  me 
lodious  soprano ;  and  then  plunges  into  the  depths  of 
ether  below,  uttering,  at  the  last  point  of  his  descent, 
a  deep  bass  note ;  then  rising  again  to  renew  his  music 
"  at  the  gate  of  heaven." 

But,  oh  !  how  blithe  and  merry  is  the  song  of  birds 
in  the  bright  and  early  morning !     Poetry  has  conje- 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   THE   FINE   ARTS.  157 

crated  all  this  natural  music,  which,  in  its  nature,  is 
fitted  to  lead  up  the  soul  to  God.  It  is  part  of  the 
worship  of  this  magnificent  temple,  whose  arch  is  the 
blue  vault  of  heaven,  whose  pavement  is  the  green 
earth,  whose  worshipers  are  MEN,  "  made  in  the  image 
of  God ;"  and  whose  presiding,  all-pervading  divinity 
is  GOD  himself — the  Eternal,  the  Immortal,  the  Invisi 
ble,  the  OMNIPRESENT. 

This  train  of  thought  might  be  pursued,  but  will — at 
least  for  the  present — be  suspended.  If  any  mind 
shall,  by  it,  be  led  to  a  deeper  contemplation  of  the 
connected  influence  of  Beauty  and  Benevolence,  my 
object  will  be  attained. 


KXV, 

Influence  of  tlje  JTine  &rls  on  the 
Sensibilities. 

IN  constructing  the  being  called  man,  and  in  provid 
ing  for  his  felicity,  it  has  pleased  the  Creator  to  pre 
pare  two  distinct,  general  sources  from  which  that  feli 
city  is  derived. 

The  first  exists  within  the  breast  of  man  himself;  the 
other  is  found  in  the  vast  variety  of  the  external  world. 
Nor  are  these  sources  of  pleasurable  emotion  altogether 
independent  of  each  other.  On  the  contrary,  there  is 
between  them  a  correspondence  so  wise  and  perfect,  as 
to  show  a  manifest  design  by  their  combined  energy  to 
make  men  happy. 


158  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


To  illustrate  my  meaning:  The  soul  of  man  is  en 
dowed  with  a  faculty  to  which  we  give  the  name  of 
taste.  By  the  rhetorician,  taste  is  defined  to  be  "  the 
power  of  receiving  pleasure  from  the  beauties  of  nature 
and  art."  Whenever,  therefore,  this  power  is  exercised 
on  its  appropriate  object,  the  result  is  mental  felicity . 
One  mind  is  so  constituted  that  it  derives  its  greatest 
pleasure  from  the  study  of  poetry ;  another  from  the 
deductions  and  demonstrations  of  mathematical  science. 
So  absorbed,  indeed,  have  some  minds  been  in  their  ad 
miration  of  the  exact  sciences,  that  scarcely  any  thing, 
within  the  empire  of  thought,  could  give  them  pleasure 
but  the  strictest  demonstration.  Hence,  a  celebrated 
mathematician  is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  after  having 
toiled  through  Paradise  Lost,  "  What  does  it  all  provef 
On  the  other  hand,  when  the  Pythagorean  proposition 
in  Euclid  was  discovered  by  its  author,  he  ran  through 
the  streets  of  his  city  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  crying, 
"  I have  found  it,  I  have  found  it." 

To  others,  again,  the  productions  of  the  pencil  or  chisel 
convey  a  paramount  pleasure,  while  they  awaken  within 
the  soul  deep  and  inexpressible  emotions.  The  organ 
of  communication  in  these  cases  is  the  eye,  through 
which,  also,  the  soul  admires  the  beauty  of  architectural 
creations  and  proportions.  But  the  art  of  music,  "the 
concord  of  sweet  sounds,"  demands  another  organ,  which 
we  call  the  ear,  through  which  it  pours  its  raptures  into 
the  same  soul.  Hence  the  blind,  whose  visual  organ 
cannot  perceive  the  external  beauties  either  of  nature 
or  of  art,  and  to  whom,  therefore,  all  these  sources  of 
pleasure  are  sealed,  turn  with  redoubled  relish  to  those 
objects  which  communicate  \vith  the  soul  through  the 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   THE   FINE   AETS.  159 

organ  of  the  ear.  And  it  is  highly  probable  that  this 
compensation  is  so  complete  in  its  nature  and  so  benef- 
ic"ent  in  its  influence,  as  entirely  to  supply  a  deficiency 
which  is  commonly  considered  an  irretrievable  calamity. 
The  highest  order  of  influence  is  that  produced  by 
ELOQUENCE,  which  seems  to  combine  the  excellences  of 
the  arts  already  mentioned.  Thus  eloquence  involves 
the  very  soul  of  poetry,  as  is  evident  from  the  breathing 
thoughts  and  burning  words  of  the  ancient  bards  and 
prophets,  who  swayed  the  minds  of  their  countrymen 
with  a  power  never  surpassed  in  the  age  of  the  most  ac 
complished  orators.  Poet  and  prophet  were  in  fact  in 
terchangeable  terms  among  the  ancients,  and  these 
men  were  the  accredited  public  speakers  of  their  assem 
blies.  At  the  feasts  and  games  they  rehearsed  their 
own  productions  to  their  delighted  fellow-citizens,  and 
when  occasion  required,  stimulated  them  with  all  the 
energy  of  song  to  deeds  of  martial  valor.  The  epic 
poem  existed  prior  to  the  oration.  Homer,  the  prince 
of  poets,  lived  some  hundreds  of  years  before  Pericles, 
the  father  of  oratory.  Moses,  the  occasional  poet,  as 
well  as  the  commissioned  lawgiver  of  the  Hebrews, 
composed  heroic,  or  triumphal  songs,  in  his  native  lan 
guage  at  the  very  time  (1490  B.  C.)  Cadmus  was  in 
troducing  the  alphabet  into  Greece,  or  six  centuries  be 
fore  the  poems  of  Homer  were  known  in  Greece. 
Very  justly,  therefore,  does  Campbell,  the  author  of 
the  Pleasures  of  Hope,  in  his  Lectures  on  Poetry,  ob 
serve  :  "  The  earliest  place  in  the  history  of  poetry  is 
thus  due  to  the  Hebrew  muse.  *  *  Indeed,  the 
more  we  contemplate  the  Old  Testament,  the  more  we 
shall  be  struck  by  the  solitary  grandeur  in  which  it 


160  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

stands  as  an  historical  monument  amid  the  waste  of 
time."  It  is  from  these  ancient  treasures,  sacred  and 
secular,  that  the  materials  of  the  most  sublime  and  e'f- 
fective  eloquence  have  been  drawn.  So  completely  is 
the  spirit  of  poetry  and  of  eloquence  intermingled  in 
the  compositions  of  the  Hebrew  prophets,  that  the 
critics  are  undecided  whether  to  class  them  as  orators 
or  poets. 

In  comparing  the  art  of  eloquence  with  the  art  of 
painting,  it  may  be  observed,  that  aside  from  those 
qualities  which  are  peculiar  to  the  former,  it  is  itself  a 
kind  of  moral  painting,  which,  disdaining  the  mere  lo 
cality  of  the  canvas,  instantly  wings  its  flight  through 
every  region  of  nature  and  of  art,  summoning  at  pleas 
ure  whatever  it  needs  to  produce  an  impression  on  the 
soul.  And  that  impression  is  not,  as  in  a  picture,  the 
result  of  slow  and  labored  strokes  of  the  pencil,  but  of 
the  mighty  action  of  mind  in  its  boldest  conceptions 
and  its  warmest  enthusiasm.  The  calm  contemplation 
of  a  mere  copy,  however  beautiful — of  a  moveless  scene, 
however  brilliant,  cannot,  in  the  nature  of  things,  so 
rouse  the  sleeping  emotions  of  the  soul,  as  the  living,  in 
telligent,  and  embodied  genius  of  human  eloquence,  car 
rying  the  soul  captive  by  its  moral  power,  and  encircling 
the  whole  man  with  its  irresistible  enchantments.  All 
painting  must  necessarily  be  descriptive.  Even  that 
which  is  imaginative  seeks  original  forms  out  of  which 
to  construct  its  combinations.  But  description  is  only 
one  attribute  of  eloquence.  Direct  persuasion  is  its 
great  object.  It  is,  indeed,  defined  to  be  "  the  art  of 
persuasion."  But,  though  indirect  persuasion  may  be 
predicated  of  some  of  the  productions  of  the  pencil,  it 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   THE   FINE   AKTS. 


is  only  an  incidental  result,  not  a  part  of  the  main  de 
sign.  For  instance,  the  object  of  those  historical  paint 
ings  which  adorn  the  National  Rotunda,  is  national 
glory.  But  incidentally  they  are  adapted  to  persuade 
the  rising  youth  of  our  country  to  the  adoption  of  princi 
ples  of  pure  patriotism,  and  to  the  performance  of  deeds 
of  heroic  devotion.  The  object  of  that  splendid  speci 
men  of  sculptured  marble,  which  may  be  seen  in  the  east 
ern  park,  is  to  honor  him  who  was  "  first  in  war,  first 
in  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen." 
Nor  can  a  thoughtful  American  youth  contemplate  it 
without  some  stirring  emotions  ;  without  some  nascent 
purpose  of  soul,  like  this  illustrious  prototype,  to  deserve 
well  of  his  country  in  whatever  sphere  he  may  be 
placed.  If  such,  then,  be  the  effect  of  these  speechless 
works  of  art  upon  the  patriotic  heart  ;  if  even  the  mute 
painting  and  the  voiceless  marble  can  be  so  eloquent  ; 
if  they  can  illustrate  the  renown  of  past  generations,  and 
inspire  generations  to  come  with  the  spirit  of  high  en 
deavor,  to  what  achievements  may  not  a  living,  speak 
ing  eloquence  aspire  ?  The  statue  of  Demosthenes  might 
charm  the  beholder,  but  what  would  he  think  of  Demos 
thenes  himself,  especially  could  he  hear  the  indignant 
tones  of  his  voice  denouncing  the  atrocities  of  the  King 
of  Macedon  ? 

When  the  comparison  is  instituted  between  eloquence 
and  music,  the  result  to  which  we  come  is  more  doubt 
ful,  supposing  the  standard  by  which  we  measure  that 
result  to  be  the  beautiful  rather  than  the  useful.  The 
emotions  awakened  in  the  human  soul  by  strains  of  soft 
or  sublime  music,  cannot  be  surpassed  in  depth  and 
power  by  any  feeling  of  which  the  soul  is  capable  when 


162  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

under  the  influence  of  any  of  the  fine  arts.  It  is  an  in 
fluence  which  reaches  its  finest  chords  and  awakens  its 
most  exquisite  sensibilities.  The  fable  of  Orpheus  call 
ing  from  the  dead  his  beloved  Eurydice  by  the  resist 
less  power  of  music,  however  destitute  of  literal  truth, 
furnishes  a  striking  tribute  from  antiquity  to  the  charms 
of  music.  It  is,  in  truth,  one  of  those  arts  which  is 
founded  in  nature,  if,  indeed,  it  does  not  boast  a  higher 
birth — in  heaven  itself.  There  was  melody  in  the  groves 
of  Eden  while  the  world  was  yet  in  its  infancy,  and 
man  in  his  purity.  Thus  Milton  represents  our  first 
parent  in  his  apostrophe  to  the  glorious  works  of  God 
as  saying : 

"  Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble,  as  ye  flow, 
Melodious  murmurs,  warbling,  tune  his  praise 
Join  voices,  all  ye  living  souls :  ye  birds, 
That  singing  up  to  heaven's  gate  ascend, 
Bear  on  your  wings  and  in  your  notes  his  praiae. 
Witness,  if  I  be  silent,  morn  or  even, 
To  hill  or  valley,  fountain  or  fresh  shade, 
Made  vocal  by  my  song,  and  taught  his  praise.' 

If  man  could  not  be  silent  in  the  midst  of  the 
works  of  God,  much  less  could  those  pure  spirits,  who 
dwelt  more  immediately  in  the  presence  of  the  Great 
King,  and  beheld  his  glory  unobstructed  by  a  veil  of 
flesh.  Hence  we  are  informed,  that  the  "morning 
stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for 
joy."  This  art,  then,  is  of  noble  birth,  and,  like  the  sis 
ter  arts,  should  never  be  desecrated  to  unworthy  and 
unhallowed  purposes.  The  sanctity  of  their  origin 
should  be  their  safeguard  against  perversion.  Music 
may  be  called  the  bride  of  poetry,  for  they  were  wedded 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   THE  FINE   ARTS.  163 

in  Paradise,  and  have  continued  for  the  most  part  to 
live  harmoniously  together  through  all  the  revolutions 
of  time,  the  decay  of  empires,  and  the  sepulture  of  the 
human  race.  Nor  can  they  ever  be  divorced  so  long  as 
the  passions  of  the  soul  shall  demand  expression.  For 
every  emotion  of  joy  or  grief,  of  love  or  indignation, 
there  is  an  appropriate  sign,  which  takes  the  form  of  a 
modulated  sound,  and  these  sounds,  in  the  process  of 
the  application  of  art  to  nature,  are  so  arranged  and 
proportioned  as  to  produce  the  most  powerful  impres 
sions  on  the  mind  through  the  ear.  Even  instrumental 
music  can  be  traced  as  far  back  as  any  art  whatever, 
not  connected  with  the  pressing  necessities  of  life.  An 
cient  history  informs  us  that  the  "  first  poets  sang  their 
own  verses,  and  hence  the  beginning  of  what  we  call 
versification,  or  words  arranged  in  a  more  artful  order 
than  prose,  so  as  to  be  suited  to  some  tune  or  melody." 
The  scale  or  alphabet  of  music  is  more  wonderful  than 
even  the  alphabet  of  language ;  for  while  the  latter  con 
sists  of  arbitrary  signs,  the  former  is  an  immutable  pro 
duction  of  Nature.  Music,  then,  was  made  for  the 
heart  of  man,  and  although  we  cannot  say  with  Shak- 
speare,  that  he  who  has  no  soul  for  it  is  "  fit  for  treason, 
stratagem,  and  spoils ;"  though  this  great  master  of  na 
ture,  in  inditing  so  bitter  and  sweeping  a  censure,  over 
stepped  the  limits  of  truth  and  probability,  yet  we  may 
well  wonder  at  the  man  whose  sensibilities  are  never 
moved  under  so  charming  an  influence.  Eloquence 
claims  to  include  this  art  within  its  ample  domain,  so 
far  as  the  energy  of  emphasis,  the  melody  of  sound,  and 
the  harmony  of  periods  are  concerned.  That  wonder 
ful  instrument,  the  living  voice,  is  essential  to  the  high- 


164  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

est  achievements  of  both.  Conception,  adaptation,  ac 
cent,  emphasis  and  expression,  all  are  common  to  both. 
Inspiration  once  said  to  one  of  the  eloquent  prophets 
who  had  addressed  the  people :  "  Thou  art  unto  them 
as  a  very  lovely  song  of  one  that  Tiath  a  pleasant  voice, 
and  can  play  well  on  an  instrument :  for  they  hear  thy 
words,  but  do  them  not."  The  superiority  of  eloquence 
as  a  practical  and  manly  art  is  seen  at  the  bar,  in  the 
forum,  in  the  legislative  assembly ;  those  great  theaters 
for  the  transaction  of  civil  affairs,  where  music  would 
be  a  strange  and  unwelcome  guest,  as  bringing  nothing 
useful  with  her,  but  being  rather  a  hindrance  and  detri 
ment  to  the  commonwealth. 

The  science  of  ARCHITECTURE,  which  is  of  later  origin 
than  most  of  the  arts  already  mentioned,  as  being  a 
production  of  civilized  life,  does,  nevertheless,  like  other 
arts  of  design,  come  down  to  us  from  classical  antiquity. 
The  history  of  the  arts  has  been  classified  into  four  lu 
minous  periods.  The  first  is  the  era  of  Alexander, 
Pericles,  Aristotle,  Apelles,  Phidias,  when,  in  a  rough 
and  martial  age,  eloquence,  philosophy,  painting,  sculp 
ture,  and  architecture  each  found  a  genius  which  each 
could  immortalize.  The  second  era  is  that  of  the  Cse- 
sars,  when  poetry  and  history  rose  to  the  very  point  of 
culmination.  This  period  embraces  the  Augustan  age. 
The  third  is  that  which  followed  the  capture  of  Con 
stantinople  by  the  successor  of  Mohammed,  Moham 
med  II.  Italy  became  now  the  refuge  of  the  fine  arts, 
and  under  the  fostering  care  of  the  Medici,  whatever 
was  rescued  from  the  barbarity  of  the  Turks  and  the 
Goths  was  advanced  to  a  degree  of  eminent  perfection. 
It  was  the  golden  age  of  painting  and  sculpture,  as  the 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    THE    FINE    AJRTS.  165 

brilliant  names  of  Michael  Angelo,  Raphael,  Titian,  and 
Corregio  testify,  while  the  beauties  of  architecture  were 
reproduced  in  that  land  of  classic  models  under  the 
genius  of  Palladio, 

"  Who  bade  the  lofty  column  rise, 
Its  summit  pointing  to  the  sides." 

The  last  age  is  that  succeeding  the  Reformation,  when, 
along  with  the  invention  of  the  art  of  printing  and  the 
mariner's  compass,  the  mind  of  man  shook  off  its  slum 
bers,  and,  stimulated  by  the  discoveries  of  the  past  and 
the  expectations  of  the  future,  commenced  a  new  career 
of  improvement.  The  discovery  of  a  new  world  occur 
ring  at  this  period,  in  the  order  of  an  infinitely  wise 
Providence,  gave  an  impulse  to  the  mind  of  the  old 
world  which  nothing  could  resist.  Experimental  phi 
losophy  burst  forth  upon  the  intellect  of  civilized  na 
tions  with  the  power  of  intuitive  demonstration,  and 
reason  and  revelation  were  enthroned  amid  the  ruins  of 
scholastic  absurdities.  Men  were  eloquent,  because 
every  faculty  of  the  mind  was  awakened  to  extraordi 
nary  activity.  The  brightest  period  of  "British  elo 
quence,  embracing  the  names  of  Chatham,  Burke,  Pitt, 
and  Fox,  which  has  just  past,  belongs  to  this  epoch. 
Indeed, "not  only  have  the  fine  arts  been  most  success 
fully  cultivated  during  the  last  three  hundred  years,  but 
never,  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind,  has  genuine 
science  made  such  sensible  and  important  progress. 
And  as  all  art  is  founded  in  science,  the  advancement 
of  the  one  insures  the  improvement  of  the  other. 

In  analyzing  more  particularly  the  influence  of  these 
arts  on  the  sensibilities  of  man,  let  us  recur  to  the  most 


166  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

ancient  among  them — poetry.  This  is  not  merely  the 
language  of  the  imagination,  as  it  has  sometimes  been, 
defined.  It  often  lies  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  poet 
himself,  and  then  it  is  that  it  awakens  the  most  pro 
found  emotion  in  the  hearts  of  others.  To  illustrate 
this  :  Let  any  one  compare  the  poetry  of  Akenside 
with  that  of  Burns  ;  while  the  former  glows  with  ani 
mated  beauty,  occasionally  rising  to  a  stirring  elo 
quence,  the  latter  seizes  the  fibers  of  the  heart,  perhaps 
in  a  single  line,  and  they  tremble  with  emotion.  The 
genius  of  Akenside  may  dazzle  the  imagination  by  its 
coruscations,  but  that  of  Burns  electrifies  the  heart. 
The  one  may  be  compared  to  an  artificial  fountain 
throwing  up  by  hydrostatic  pressure  its  beautiful  jets ; 
the  other  to  a  natural  fountain  in  the  hill-side,  gushing 
out  with  translucent  purity  from  its  secret  recesses. 
The  former  might  well  sing  of  the  Pleasures  of  the  Im 
agination,  for  he  wras  the  poet  of  the  imagination ;  the 
latter  of  the  simplicities  and  sanctities  of  HOME,  for  he 
is  the  poet  of  the  heart,  and  thither  the  heart  turns  amid 
all  its  wanderings  and  its  wounds.  There  it  would  rest 
at  last.  "  Eet  me  die  among  my  kindred,"  exclaims 
the  Orientalist.  Home ! 

"  How  dark  this  world  would  be, 
If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 
"We  could  not  fly  to  thee  !" 

It  is  for  this  reason  that  Cowper,  whose  muse  is  so  con 
versant  with  the  "  business  and  bosoms"  of  men,  has 
secured  so  triumphant  a  place  in  the  affections  of  all 
the  lovers  of  true  poetry  ;  while  Pope,  however  brilliant 
in  poetic  conception,  and  perfect  in  the  harmony  of 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   THE    FINE   ARTS.  167 

numbers,  must  consent  to  enjoy  his  regal  dignity,  an  ob 
ject  of  admiration  rather  than  of  affection  in  his  exalted 
sphere.  Burns  said  that  the  muse  of  his  country  found 
him  as  Elijah  did  Elisha,  at  the  plow,  and  threw  her 
mantle  of  inspiration  over  him.  If,  obedient  to  the 
mandate  of  his  mistress,  the  poet  abandoned  the  plow 
for  an  elevated  field  of  fame,  the  freshness  and  the  fra 
grance  of  his  rural  associations  still  clung  around  him, 
and  he  delighted  to  write  poetry  to  the  mountain-daisy, 
which  he  had -upturned  with  the  plowshare  ;  that  "  wee, 
modest,  crimson-tipped  flower,"  as  he  calls  it,  whose 
fate  he  seemed  to  consider  emblematic  of  his  own : 

"  There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snowy  bosom  sunward  spread, 
Thou  lift'st  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise ; 

But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed. 
And  low  thou  lies ! 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  bard 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starred." 

But  he  learned  many  a  useful  lesson  at  the  domestic 
fireside  and  altar,  which,  had  he  remembered  and  prac 
ticed,  would  have  saved  him  that  agony  of  feeling,  he 
himself  describes  in  those  fine  verses  entitled,  "  Man 
was  made  to  mourn" 

"  Many  and  sharp  the  numerous  ills 

Inwoven  with  our  frame ; 
More  pointed  still  we  make  ourselves 
Regret,  remorse,  and  shame." 

From  the  poisoned  cup  of  self-indulgence  he  drank  pain 
and  sorrow  till  the  agony  of  his  soul  became  chronic, 


168  GLEANINGS   AND   GKOUl'INGS 

and  the  dignity  of  genius  bowed  beneath  the  sway  of  a 
base  and  despotic  passion.  The  stream  of  poetic  feeling- 
was  tainted  too  early  and  deeply  in  his  young  manhood 
to  admit  of  clarification,  and  by  his  own  confession, 
there  was  more  than  one  line  written  which,  "  dying, 
he  would  wish  to  blot."  When,  however,  he  burst 
away  from  the  spell  of  temptation,  abandoned  for  a 
season  his  boon  companions,  and  exchanged  the  roar  of 
the  bar-room  for  the  tranquil  seclusion  of  home  and 
homeborn  associations,  then  his  genius,  plucking  away 
every  foul  adhesion,  and  pluming  its  wings  for  a  serener 
flight,  would  achieve  something  worthy  of  his  own 
spreading  fame,  and  of  the  deeply  religious  feeling  of 
his  beloved  country.  Thus,  in  that  most  celebrated  of 
his  productions,  the  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  which, 
in  fact,  is  a  painting  of  a  family  scene — his  own  father's 
home  being  the  original,  he  proceeds  in  this  strain  • 

'  Oh  Scotia !  my  dear,  my  native  soil ! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  heaven  is  sent, 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil 

Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content ! 
And  oh,  may  heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 

From  luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile ! 
Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 

A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while 

And  stand,  a  wall  of  fire,  around  their  much-loved  isle." 

Here  are  patriotic  sentiments  strongly  ingrafted  on 
domestic  sympathies,  and  the  heart  of  Scotland  leaps 
for  joy  at  the  sound  of  this  music.  Crowns  and  coro 
nets  may  glitter  with  hereditary  lustre,  but  here  is  a 
patent  of  nobility  from  the  Author  of  mind — a  diadem 
of  beauty,  the  lustre  of  which  does  not  fade.  This  do- 


THE   INFLUENCE    OF   THE    FINE   ARTS.  169 

minion  of  genius  is  most  truly  imperial,  because  of  its 
essential  strength,  and  that  strength  arises  from  the  in 
fluence  which  falls  upon  the  heart. 

If  now  we  contemplate  the  sister  arts  in  the  same  re 
lation,  we  shall  be  struck  with  similar  results.  Although 
the  field  of  the  painter  is  comparatively  limited,  yet  in 
that  field  the  triumph  of  the  art  has  been  wonderful. 
If  it  be  one  of  the  attributes  of  genius  to  diffuse  its  en 
ergies  far  and  wide,  it  is  a  not  less  important  attribute 
to  concentrate  its  powers  within  a  small  compass,  and 
to  execute  so  condensed  a  view  of  a  great  moral  sub 
ject,  as  to  produce  a  proportionate  impression  on  the 
susceptibilities  of  the  soul. 

It  is  here  that  the  power  of  the  pictorial  art  is  con 
fessedly  pre-eminent.  The  poet,  availing  himself  of  the 
succession  of  time  and  place,  can  select  and  combine 
from  all  the  circumstances  of  the  past,  and  thus  at  will 
pass  through  the  present  to  the  future,  and,  if  necessary, 
even  retrace  the  glowing  path  of  his  imagination.  But 
the  painter,  compelled  to  seize  one  moment  of  time  and 
one  local  position,  summons  all  his  powers  to  the  mighty 
eifort,  and  bestows  on  that  point  the  whole  strength  of 
his  genius.  He  may  have  studied  for  years  a  design 
which  is  to  occupy  but  a  few  square  feet  of  canvas. 
But  he  paints  for  immortality,  and  deep  must  be  the 
studies,  patient  the  toil,  exhaustless  the  perseverance  of 
such  a  mind.  He  aims  not  merely  to  please  the  eye. 
That  could  be  done  by  the  simple  process  of  fine  color 
ing.  He  seeks  to  stir  the  deep  sea  of  human  sensibility. 
He  desires  to  reach  the  most  retired  and  secret  fount 
ains  of  feeling  in  man,  and  hence  he  must  commune  for 
days  and  nights  with  nature  herself  in  her  multiplied 


170  GLEANINGS    AND    GKOUPINGS. 

forms  and  in  her  beautiful  developments.  Some  minds 
are  more  affected  by  natural  scenery  than  by  any  other 
source  of  moral  influence.  To  such  the  rich  landscapes 
of  Titian  would  convey  a  most  refined  and  delicate 
pleasure.  For  besides  the  impression  produced  by  a 
view  of  the  charms  of  nature,  there  would  be  the  emo 
tion  of  admiration  for  the  triumph  of  genius  in  trans 
ferring,  as  by  some  magical  art,  the  features  of  still  life 
to  the  canvas.  It  is  thus  that  a  combination  of  moral 
causes  has  a  tendency  to  increase  the  power  of  intellect 
ual  enjoyment.  What,  then,  must  have  been  the  pleas 
ures  of  Michael  Angelo,  who  was  not  only  the  first  of 
painters,  but  eminent  also  as  a  sculptor  and  an  architect, 
and  even  as  a  poet,  distinguished  by  the  power  of  his 
imagination  !  Who  can  measure  the  power  of  such  a 
mind  to  impart  and  receive  pleasure  ?  When  the  emi 
nent  painters  of  modern  times  would  display  the  high 
est  perfection  of  the  art,  they  seem  by  the  very  instinct 
of  genius  to  select  the  most  elevated  and  impressive 
subjects,  and  these  subjects  they  could  find  nowhere 
but  in  the  Scriptures  of  Divine  Inspiration.  The  same 
is  true  of  the  great  masters  of  music,  who  have  delighted 
the  world  with  their  productions.  Haydn  sought  the 
idea  of  his  Creation,  Handel  of  his  Messiah,  Beethoven 
of  his  Mount  of  Olives,  in  the  sources  of  holy  inspiration. 
Of  the  vast  influence  of  their  works  upon  the  mind  of 
the  world,  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak.  It  was  under  the 
promptings  of  a  similar  spirit  that  Milton,  that  great 
moral  painter,  that  architect  of  the  most  sublime  poem 
in  existence,  invoked  the  aid  of  the  Spirit  of  God  at  the 
very  threshold  of  his  immortal  work,  and,  intending  "  no 
middle  flight,"  sought  to  imbibe  his  inspiration  at  "  Si- 


, 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    THE    FINE    AKTS.  171 

loa's  brook,  that  flowed  last  by  the  oracle  of  God."  It 
must  hence  result,  that  the  more  widely  Christianity 
extends  her  empire  in  the  earth,  shaping  the  purposes 
and  sanctifying  the  sensibilities  of  men,  the  more  cer 
tainly  will  their  taste  seek  its  gratification  in  such 
works  rather  than  in  those  which  abound  in  the  ma 
chinery  of  gods  and  demons,  or  of  elves,  witches,  and 
fairies^  and  especially  rather  than  in  those  which  pander 
to  the  passions,  debauch  the  imagination,  and  corrupt 
the  heart. 

The  names  of  Raphael,  Rubens,  Yan  Dyke,  Paul 
Veronese,  Salvator  Rosa,  Leonardo  da  Yinci,  are  famil 
iar  in  the  history  of  painting.  If  you  inquire  which 
are  the  most  successful  and  the  most  celebrated  of  their 
productions ;  what  subjects  did  they  choose  on  which 
to  spend  the  force  of  their  genius,  the  reply  is,  THE 
THEMES  OF  INSPIRATION  :  the  preaching  of  Paul  at  Ath 
ens  ;  the  Death  of  John  the  Baptist ;  the  Judgment  of 
Solomon ;  Saul  at  the  Tomb  of  Samuel ;  the  Miracles 
of  Christ ;  the  Transfiguration ;  the  Crucifixion  ;  the 
Resurrection ;  the  Descent  from  the  Cross ;  the  Last 
Supper  ;  the  Last  Judgment.  Were  these  men  attract 
ed  solely  by  the  moral  beauty  and  the  essential  grand 
eur  of  their  themes,  or  did  they  not  also,  with  a  kind  of 
prophetic  vision,  anticipate  the  day  when,  in  conse 
quence  of  the  supremacy  of  Christianity  over  the  mind 
of  posterity,  their  own  bright  and  sublime  creations 
would  so  harmonize  with  the  spirit  of  that  illustrious 
age,  as  to  secure  to  their  fame  an  amaranthine  freshness 
to  the  end  of  time  ?  Did  they  not,  in  addressing  their 
works  of  art  to  the  religious  sensibilities  of  man,  expect 
to  find  in  them  responses  of  the  deepest  tone  and  of  the 


GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 


most  undoubted  perpetuity  ?  Now,  though  the  colors 
should  fade  from  their  canvas,  other  master-spirits  will 
arise,  to  imitate  their  example,  perhaps  to  surpass  their 
achievements  ;  and  while  they  reform  that  which  is 
vicious  in  point  of  morals,  will  add  purity  to  the  pro 
fession,  grace  to  the  art,  and  grandeur  to  its  results. 
The  Roman  and  Grecian,  the  Florentine  and  Venetian 
schools,  will  then  have  passed  away,  to  be  succeeded  by 
that  last  and  noblest,  the  CHRISTIAN  SCHOOL. 

In  adverting  to  the  influence  of  architecture  on  the 
mind,  three  things  are  to  be  considered  :  comprehen 
siveness  of  design,  beauty  of  proportion,  and  sublimity 
of  expression.  These  qualities  are  essential  to  the  high 
est  success  of  the  art.  When  combined,  they  excite 
some  of  the  strongest  sentiments  of  the  mind  ;  and  es 
pecially  when  viewed  in  connection  with  antiquity, 
though  in  broken  forms,  they  become  invested  with  so 
many  interesting  associations,  and  awaken  so  many 
powerful  recollections,  as  at  times  almost  to  overwhelm 
the  mind.  Thus  the  Temple  of  Theseus  at  Athens,  so 
remarkably  preserved,  though  built  ten  years  after  the 
battle  of  Marathon,  presents  not  merely  a  specimen  of 
the  material  sublime,  but  connects  itself  with  the  his 
tory  of  that  wonderful  people,  who  reared  its  magnifi 
cent  columns,  which  have  weathered  the  storms  of  two 
thousand  years.  It  is  thus  that  architecture,  amid  the 
ruins  of  time,  furnishes  here  and  there  a  sublime  and 
comprehensive  symbol  of  the  history  of  the  past  ;  and 
the  grandeur  of  the  human  intellect  transmits  its  own 
imperishable  evidence  to  the  latest  posterity.  Poetry 
has  not  withheld  its  tribute  from  the  sister  art.  The 
author  of  the  "  Seasons,"  not  insensible  to  any  of  the 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   THE   FINE   AKTS.  173 

forms  of  beauty,  whether  in  the  visible  world  or  in  the 

empire  of  the  imagination,  thus  speaks  : 

"  First,  unadorned 

Ami  nobly  plain,  the  manly  Doric  rose ; 
The  Ionic  then,  with  decent  matron  grace, 
Her  airy  pillar  heaved ;  luxuriant  last 
The  rich  Corinthian  spread  her  leafy  wreath." 

Any  form  of  art  that  could  thus  be  described  must 
be  emblematic,  and  emblems  most  strongly  affect  the 
imagination.  Here,  then,  is  another  source  of  senti 
ment  in  the  department  of  architectural  design. 

But  the  assigned  limits  of  this  paper  do  not  permit 
me  to  pursue  this  train  of  thought.  In  reviewing  those 
arts  at  which  we  have  glanced  on  the  present  occasion, 
we  see  prepared  on  the  one  hand  the  beautiful  images  of 
•poetry — the  rich  colors  of  painting — the  moral  sublimi 
ties  of  eloquence — the  soft  melody  of  music — the  silent 
eloquence  of  sculpture — the  impressive  designs  of  archi 
tecture  ;  and  on  the  other,  certain  mental  susceptibili 
ties,  by  wThich  the  influence  emanating  from  these  arts 
is  enjoyed.  There  are  faculties  in  men,  each  one  of 
which  meets  some  creation  of  immortal  genius  by  a 
law  as  certain  as  that  which  adapts  light  to  the  eye  or 
sound  to  the  ear.  Why,  then,  should  the  human  intel 
lect  ever  slumber,  or  why  should  the  mind  ever  be  at  a 
loss  for  sources  of  rational  pleasure?  What  expecta 
tions  may  not  be  indulged  with  reference  to  the  future ! 

OUK  COUNTRY  is  young  in  years,  but  where  is  there 
such  a  land  to  excite  human  intellect  ?  Her  reminis 
cences  are  indeed  brief,  but  brilliant.  Her  promise  is 
great  and  animating.  Look  at  her  giant  mountains — 


174  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

her  broad  rivers  that  rush  sublimely  to  the  ocean — her 
beautiful  lakes,  each  one  a  mimic  sea — her  deep,  un 
trodden  forests,  so  luxuriantly  vast,  so  wildly  grand — 
her  wide-spread  scenery,  varied  with  every  tint  of 
beauty  that  ever  fell  from  Nature's  pencil — how  much 
is  here  to  awaken  the  genius  of  poetry  and  of  painting ! 
Contemplate  her  institutions — their  origin  with  the 
people — conquered  by  the  people  in  a  conflict,  a  par 
allel  to  which  history  does  not  furnish — secured  by  a 
power  that  resides  within  themselves — chartered  by 
their  own  authority — the  very  nature  of  the  American 
government  demands  the  utmost  freedom  of  thought 
and  latitude  of  discussion  on  all  subjects,  and  this  is 
the  condition  of  the  highest  eloquence.  With  the  ad 
vancing  refinement  of  society  all  the  sister  arts  will 
advance,  each  occupying  its  appropriate  niche  in  the 
great  temple  of  science,  and  all  combining  to  instruct 
the  mind  and  soften  the  manners  of  a  stern  and  enter 
prising  people.  Go  on,  then,  my  beloved  country,  en 
courage  every  rising  genius.  Multiply  your  institutes 
of  science  and  your  halls  of  literature.  Let  there  be  an 
alliance  of  nations  to  foster  the  arts  and  to  forget  arms. 
Let  the  sword  of  war  continue  to  sleep  in  its  scabbard, 
and  the  trump  of  battle  no  more  rouse  the  wrath  of 
contending  hosts,  nor  the  tramp  of  hostile  squadrons 
shake  the  ensanguined  plain ;  but  may  the  general  strife 
be,  who  shall  most  successfully  cultivate  the  arts  of 
peace,  and  promote  the  happiness  of  universal  man ! 


THE   SIX   JOHNS.  175 


XXVI, 
Si*  #ohns. 


JOHN  WICKLIFF  -  JOHN  HUSS  -  JOHN  KNOX  -  JOHN  CALVIN  - 
JOHN   BUNYAN  -  JOHN   WESLEY. 

HERE  is  a  constellation  of  brilliant  names.  Each  one 
suggests  a  lofty  train  of  thought.  Uninspired  they 
were,  but  not  uncommissioned  of  Heaven,  not  undi 
rected  of  the  Spirit  of  God.  The  first  has  been  called 
the  morning  star  of  the  Reformation.  He  was  not  the 
Great  Light  itself,  but  he  came  to  bear  a  kind  of  pro 
phetic  witness  to  it.  Richmond  in  Yorkshire  gave 
him  birth,  Oxford  an  education,  Heaven  a  heart  to  love 
all  men  here,  and  a  final  home  among  the  saints.  His  lot 
was  cast  in  the  fourteenth  century.  In  that  dark  day 
he  struck  out  some  light,  and  flashed  it  in  the  face  of  the 
Pope.  He  boldly  approached  the  triple  crown  to  ne 
gotiate  for  the  liberties  of  the  Church  of  England.  His 
object  was  obtained.  But  this  was  only  a  beginning. 
The  more  he  contemplated  the  system  of  popery  —  that 
vast  "  chamber  of  imagery"  —  the  more  he  saw,  like 
Ezekiel,  greater  and  greater  abomination,  and  the  in 
dignant  spirit  of  the  Christian  Reformer  could  not  be 
restrained.  He  thought,  he  reasoned,  he  prayed,  he 
wrote,  he  spoke,  for  the  word  of  God  —  the  living  truth 
was  "  as  a  fire  shut  up  in  his  bones."  The  mystery  of 
iniquity  rose  before  him  in  all  its  hideous  dimensions, 
and  his  was  the  honor  to  give  the  first  stroke  to  the 


1Y6  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

*  _^    ^ ^-.-^-m. _ 

alarm-bell,  that  eventually  aroused  all  Christendom  to 
the  dangers  over  which  it  had  so  long  slumbered.  He 
set  the  trumpet  of  the  Gospel  to  his  lips,  and  the  sound 
thereof  rang  over  the  Seven  Hills,  if  not  with  the  em 
phatic  tones  of  Luther,  yet  with  a  strange  and  startling 
clearness  that  disturbed  the  guilty  dreams  of  the  reign 
ing  Pontiff — that  monarch  of  darkness — that  despot  of 
souls. 

Five  papal  bulls  were  fulminated  at  the  daring  rebel, 
and  all  the  powers  of  England,  civil,  regal,  and  eccle 
siastical,  were  imperatively  invoked  to  crush  the  her 
etic. 

Wickliff  was  summoned  before  the  Bishop  of  Lon 
don.  An  immense  crowd  rushed  to  the  scene.  All 
was  excitement.  Friends  and  enemies  were  confronted 
in  fierce  array.  High  words  ensued.  Truth  and  Error 
met,  and  clashed  swords.  The  tumult  increased,  the 
tribunal  broke  up,  and  Wickliff  escaped. 

Again  was  he  cited  before  the  papal  delegates  at 
Lambeth  Palace,  and  again  did  God  raise  up  friends, 
who  stood  by  him  to  shield  him  from  the  wrath  of  his 
enemies. 

At  Oxford  he  was  seized  with  a  dangerous  illness. 
The  mendicant  Friars  beset  his  bed,  adjuring  him  to 
renounce  his  errors  and  impieties.  Directing  his  at 
tendants  to  raise  and  support  his  head  on  his  pillow,  he 
said,  in  a  loud  and  determined  voice :  "  I  shall  not  die, 
but  live,  and  declare  the  evil  deeds  of  the  Friars !" 
Such  strength  does  Christ  give  to  his  heroic  servants  in 
the  hour  of  their  need,  and  of  his  glory.  That  sickness 
was  not  unto  death.  The  mendicants  cowered  before 
the  majesty  of  his  rebuke,  and  fled  his  presence.  He 


THE   SIX   JOHNS.  177 


lived  to  execute  a  translation  of  the  Scriptures — the 
first  translation  into  the  immortal  English  language ; 
an  era,  not  alone  in  a  man's  life,  but  in  the  history  of 
man,  for  it  involved  a  principle  as  enduring  as  the 
Protestant  faith. 

Fresh  conspiracies  were  formed  against  him,  but  the 
vigilant  providence  of  God  defeated  them,  and  at  length 
he  departed  this  life  at  Lutterworth,  where  he  had 
taught  men  both  through  the  pen  and  the  pulpit,  in 
December,  1384.  There  he  was  buried,  but  the  grave, 
usually  regarded  by  men  as  the  inviolable  sanctuary  of 
all,  was  no  shelter  to  the  hated  dust  of  Wickliff! 
Forty  years  had  not  cooled  the  malice  of  his  enemies, 
who,  so  long  after  his  death,  disinterred  his  bones, 
burned  them  to  ashes,  and  cast  the  ashes  into  the  near 
est  river.  Glorious  incineration !  The  enemies  of  Christ 
can  martyr  the  bodies  of  his  saints,  but  the  martyrdom 
of  the  soul  is  beyond  their  power.  The  very  act  by 
which  they  sought  to  imprint  infamy  on  the  name  of 
John  Wickliff,  gave  to  that  name  the  finishing  stroke 
of  its  immortality.  A  thousand  mausoleums  of  Parian 
marble  would  not  so  have  honored  him.  Such  are  the 
rewards  of  heroic  virtue,  consecrated  to  the  glory  of  God 
and  the  good  of  men.  "The  memory  of  the  just  is 
blessed,  but  the  name  of  the  wicked  shall  rot."  They 
could  not  quench  the  mild  light  of  that  "  morning  star," 
while  their  own  sickly  and  lurid  beam  went  out  in  ever 
lasting  darkness ! 

Poetry  has  spoken  of  the  voices  of  the  dead — of  the 
silent  ministration  of  departed  spirits.  It  is  not  a  mere 
fiction  of  the  imagination.  It  is  founded  in  truth.  It 
is  truth — even  sanctioned  by  inspiration  itself;  for,  of 

8* 


IT'S  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

the  first  noble  martyr  to  the  fury  of  persecution,  the 
sacred  oracles  have  recorded  the  sublime  testimony, 
that  "  being  dead,  he  yet  speaketh."  And  so  of  this 
first  John  of  the  Reformation.  The  lapse  of  years  adds 
honor  to  his  name — fragrance  to  his  memory.  Time 
only  deepens  the  gratitude  of  posterity  to  such  bene 
factors  of  the  world. 

THE  SECOND  JOHN— HUSS. 

If  John  "VVicklifF  was  the  proto-reformer,  John  Huss 
was  the  proto-martyr  of  the  Reformation,  the  seeds  of 
which  were  vital  and  vegetative,  even  in  those  days  of 
darkness  and  despotism.  Some  rays  of  light  were 
transmitted  by  means  of  Wickliif  across  the  waters  from 
England  to  Bohemia,  which,  mingling  with  other  rays 
that  shot  forth  from  the  romantic  and  secluded  valleys 
of  Piedmont,  enlightened  and  stimulated  the  mental 
vision  of  such  men  as  John  Huss  and  Jerome  of  Prague. 
"VVickliff's  books  were  so  dangerous  to  the  cause  of 
popery,  that  the  Archbishop  of  Prague  ordered  two 
hundred  volumes  of  them  to  be  burned !  What  a  pity 
that  such  men  could  not  burn  the  truth  itself!  But  no, 
you  cannot  consume  fire  with  fire — at  least,  not  the  fire 
of  the  sun  with  the  flames  of  persecution. 

A  young  student  at  Oxford,  being  impregnated  with 
the  doctrines  and  spirit  of  WicklifF,  conveyed  them  to 
Prague,  where  they  set  on  fire  the  soul  of  John  Huss. 
Like  a  colporteur,  he  carried  thither  some  of  the  tracts 
of  the  Morning  Star,  and  Huss  read  them  with  a  deep 
and  eager  enthusiasm.  So  enraptured  was  he  with  the 
discoveries  thus  made,  so  enamored  of  the  beauty  and 
sublimity  of  the  truths,  that  he  declared  Wickliff  to  be 


THE   SIX   JOHNS.  1Y9 


"  an  angel  sent  from  heaven  to  enlighten  mankind,  and 
that  his  writings  had  furnished  him  with  the  richest 
pleasure  in  the  world,  and  that  it  would  be  his  joy  to 
live  in  heaven  with  that  excellent  man."  Such  is  the 
power  of  truth,  so  penetrating  and  inspiriting  is  its  in 
fluence.  John  Huss  was  awaking  like  a  giant  from 
his  slumbers.  He  was  ready  to  shout  with  his  new  in 
spiration.  This  was  no  fanaticism.  It  was  the  first 
animating  impulse  of  the  Gospel,  which  is  "  mighty 
through  God." 

Forthwith  he  plunged  into  the  depths  of  the  Gospel 
mine,  and  grappled  with  those  treasures,  "the  mer 
chandise  of  which  is  better  than  the  merchandise  of 
silver,  and  the  gain  thereof  than  fine  gold."  He  be 
came  suddenly  rich  with  that  wealth,  and  he  was  as 
generous  as  rich.  While  the  treasure  was  in  an  earthen 
vessel,  the  excellency  of  the  power  was  of  God.  He 
became  a  potent  and  popular  preacher. 

Nor  was  the  purity  of  his  life  less  exemplary  than  the 
quality  of  his  public  performances.  He  vindicated  the 
rights  of  the  people  to  read  the  Scriptures.  This  was 
sufficient  to  rouse  the  stupid  indignation  of  a  Romish 
ecclesiastic.  The  Archbishop,  who  could  not  himself 
read,  in  consequence  of  which  he  received  the  sobriquet 
of  Alphabetarious,  or  the  ABC  Doctor,  of  course  pro 
hibited  all  such  profane  familiarity  with  the  Scriptures 
as  was  implied  in  learning  to  read  them.  But  why  at 
tempt  to  chain  the  light,  or  bid  the  winds  of  heaven 
cease  to  blow  ?  They  ask  no  passport  with  which  to 
travel  up  and  down  the  earth.  Nor  does  Truth.  Though 
"  crushed  to  earth,"  it  will  "  rise  again"  with  renewed 
strength,  desiring  a  "  free  encounter." 


180  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

Pope  John  ordered  Cardinal  Colonna  to  cite  Huss 
before  him  at  Rome,  but  he  declined  obedience,  and 
was  excommunicated.  He  appealed  to  a  Council,  and 
being  driven  from  his  church,  retired  to  his  native  vil 
lage  of  Hussemitz,  to  preach  and  to  write  without  fear, 
if  not  without  reproach.  He,  too,  was  a  writer  of 
tracts,  the  best  "  tracts  for  the  times"  that  appeared. 

The  next  assault  upon  the  humble  but  intrepid  John 
was  a  summons  to  appear  before  the  Council  of  Con 
stance,  which  convened  in  November,  14:14.  Its  object 
was  to  settle  a  quarrel  between  three  rival  claimants  to 
the  throne  of  the  Seven  Hills.  The  tiara  might  be  said 
to  be  torn  in  pieces  in  the  furious  struggles  of  the  dif 
ferent  factions  to  grasp  it  for  their  leaders.  Religion 
shrieked  in  terror  under  the  violence  of  her  professed 
followers.  Charity  wept  her  strength  away  in  view  of 
the  triumphs  of  sanctified  guilt. 

Of  this  Council  of  Constance,  Fox  says :  "  There 
were  archbishops  and  bishops,  346  ;  abbots  and  doctors, 
564: ;  princes,  dukes,  earls,  knights,  and  squires,  16,000 ; 
prostitutes,  450 ;  barbers,  600 ;  musicians,  cooks,  and 
jesters,  320."  A  goodly  assemblage,  indeed,  and  quite 
congenial  with  the  spirit  and  temper  of  the  age.  The 
period  was  rampant  with  popery,  and  redolent  of  the 
influence  of  the  pit. 

It  was  a  period  of  jubilee  among  devils,  and  of 
mourning  among  the  angels.  The  saints  were  in  sack 
cloth,  and  sinners  in  cloth  of  gold  and  all  soft  raiment. 
At  such  a  time  did  Pope  John  bring  Huss  before  this 
profligate  Council,  the  Emperor  Sigismund  pledging 
him  a  safe-conduct.  This  pledge  was  utterly  disre 
garded,  on  the  principle  that  "  no  faith  is  to  be  kept 


THE   SIX   JOHNS.  181 


with  heretics."  He  was  seized  and  imprisoned.  On 
being  brought  before  the  Council  a  second  time,  and 
required  to  abjure,  he  firmly  refused,  preferring  the 
alternative  of  death.  On  being  condemned,  he  mani 
fested  the  most  profound  resignation,  kneeled  down, 
raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  prayed  for  his  murder 
ers  !  When  stripped  of  his  priestly  garments,  degraded 
from  his  sacred  functions  and  University  degrees,  and 
crowned  in  mockery,  with  a  paper  miter,  on  which 
images  of  devils  were  painted,  with  this  inscription  in 
capitals,  "A  ringleader  of  heretics," — he  smiled  and 
said,  "  It  is  less  painful  than  a  crown  of  thorns" 

From  the  decision  of  this  Pandemonium  he  appealed 
to  the  Court  of  Heaven.  At  the  place  of  execution,  he 
kneeled,  sang,  and  prayed,  embracing  the  stake  and 
the  chain,  and  saying,  "  My  Lord  Jesus  Christ  was 
bound  with  a  harder  chain  for  my  sake,  and  why 
should  I  be  ashamed  of  this  old,  rusty  one  ?  What  I 
taught  with  my  lips,  I  now  seal  with  my  blood."  How 
far  superior  is  such  moral  courage  to  the  headlong  valor 
of  the  bloody  battle-field !  Amid  the  crackling  of  the 
fagots  were  heard  the  triumphant  notes  of  the  martyr 
hymn  that  rose  to  heaven  from  the  lips  of  John  Huss, 
while,  like  his  prototype  Stephen,  he  breathed  out  his 
soul  to  God  in  these  words :  "  Into  thy  hands,  O  Lord, 
do  I  commit  my  spirit;  thou  hast  redeemed  me,  O 
God." 

They  gathered  his  ashes,  and  cast  them  into  the  wa 
ters  of  the  Rhine,  every  drop  of  which  stream,  could  a 
tongue  have  been  given  to  it,  would  have  cried  to  the 
justice  of  heaven  to  draw  its  avenging  sword  on  these 
murderers  of  defenseless  innocence.  Their  souls  have 


182  GLEANINGS  AND   GROUPINGS. 

gone  to  the  bar  of  God,  while  their  memory  is  con 
signed  to  the  execrations  of  the  latest  posterity — of  all, 
in  all  time,  who  are  not  palsied  with  priestly  oppres 
sion,  besotted  with  papal  superstition,  or  shriveled 
with  ghostly  bigotry. 

Strong  are  the  words  of  Pollok : 

"  The  infidel  -who  turned  his  impious  war 
Against  the  walls  of  Zion,  on  the  rock 
Of  ages  built,  and  higher  than  the  clouds, 
Sinned,  and  received  his  due  reward ;  but  she* 
Within  her  walls  sinned  more.     Of  Ignorance 
Begot,  her  daughter,  Persecution,  walked 
The  earth  from  age,  and  drank  the  blood 
Of  saints ;  with  horrid  relish  drank  the  blood 
Of  God's  peculiar  children,  and  was  drunk, 
And  in  her  drunkenness  dreamed  of  doing  good !" 

THE  TRIED  JOHN— KNOX. 

A  concise  name,  the  whole  of  which  employs  but  two 
syllables,  but  formidable  was  the  sound  thereof  to  the 
enemies  of  the  truth,  whether  gowned,  mitered,  or 
crowned.  So,  too,  was  his  a  compact  character.  He 
was  a  hero  of  great  thoughts  and  daring  deeds.  His 
parents  were  neither  great  nor  rich,  but  thanks  to  the 
Author  of  the  constitution  of  man,  that  want  does  not 
prevent  a  man  from  exerting  a  mighty  and  blessed  in 
fluence  in  this  world.  East  Lothian  gave  him  birth  in 
1505,  that  period  so  fertile  in  great  inventions,  and 
great  discoveries,  and  great  men.  The  scholastic  phi 
losophy  was  then  imposing  its  interminable  subtleties 
on  young  minds,  but  Knox  mastered  only  to  be  dis- 

*  Bigotry 


THE   SIX   JOHNS. 


gusted  with  it.  Jerome  and  Augustine  pleased  him 
more,  especially  because  the  former  led  him  to  the 
Hebrew  fountains,  while  in  the  writings  of  the  latter  he 
discovered  doctrines  quite  opposite  to  those  of  the  Ro 
mish  Church,  who,  while  she  retained  his  name  as  a 
saint  in  her  calendar,  banished  his  doctrine  from  her 
creed.  The  Spirit  of  God,  not  the  mother  of  abomina 
tions,  taught  him.  Gradually  he  disengaged  himself 
from  the  shackles  of  that  ponderous  superstition.  Seven 
years  was  he  in  emerging  into  the  clear  Protestant 
light.  In  1542  his  emancipation  was  complete.  It 
was  the  signal  for  the  demon  of  persecution  to  draw  her 
sanguinary  sword.  But  the  Head  of  the  Church  en 
abled  him  to  escape  its  edge.  All  the  efforts  of  Cardi 
nal  Beaton  to  effect  his  assassination  were  frustrated 
by  an  ever-vigilant  Providence.  Sheltered  from  his 
enemies  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Andrews,  he  improved  his 
time  in  educating  young  minds  in  the  truth  and  for  the 
service  of  God. 

The  people,  captivated  with  his  abilities  and  his  "  apt 
ness  to  teach,"  besought  him  to  enter  the  ministry,  but 
he  shrank  from  what  he  deemed  an  intrusion  upon  such 
high  responsibilities,  and  declined  all  their  solicitations. 
But  the  pastor  John  Rough,  who  perceived  his  gifts, 
was  determined  not  so  easily  to  let  him  off.  This  rough- 
and-ready  servant  of  the  Lord,  having  preached  a  ser 
mon  on  the  call  to  the  pastoral  office,  turned  to  John 
Knox,  who  was  present,  and  demanded  of  him  in  the 
name  of  God  and  his  Son  Jesus  Christ,  and  of  the  whole 
congregation,  "  not  to  refuse  the  holy  vocation,  as  he 
would  avoid  God's  heavy  displeasure."  The  whole  con 
gregation  echoed  the  summons,  and  the  astonished  ob- 


184  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

ject  of  it,  after  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  address  them, 
burst  into  tears,  left  the  assembly,  and  retired  to  soli 
tude  and  to  prayer.  In  shutting  himself  up  in  his 
chamber,  he  felt  that  he  was  shut  up  to  that  great  work, 
from  which  he  could  be  released  only  by  death.  His 
decision  was  taken.  Forthwith  he  began  to  preach, 
and  boldly  struck  at  once  at  the  very  root  of  the  system 
of  popery,  openly  announcing  the  Pope  to  be  Anti 
christ,  and  the  enemy  of  all  righteousness. 

The  sermon  made  a  great  noise.  The  wrath  of  Rome 
was  roused,  and  among  the  champions  who  encountered 
him  was  one  ArbugJdU,  a  friar,  who  was  quickly  made 
to  repent  of  his  temerity ;  for  however  expert  he  might 
be  in  killing  little  bugs,  he  found  Knox  quite  too  big  an 
antagonist  to  be  safely  grappled  with.  So  retreating  into 
the  citadel  of  authority  and  infallibility,  he  gave  up 
the  contest. 

In  154-7,  a  French  fleet  and  army  appeared  before 
the  Castle  of  St.  Andrews,  after  the  manner  of  the 
military  forces  of  the  same  nation  in  the  Pacific  Isles, 
and  made  prisoners  of  the  inhabitants.  Knox  was  con 
veyed,  among  the  rest,  to  France,  bound  in  chains,  and 
kept  in  captivity  for  nineteen  dreary  months.  Ah ! 
they  could  not  bind  his  heroic  soul  with  fetters  of  iron. 
The  lofty  and  unconquerable  spirit  of  the  Reformer 
disdained  all  imprisonment.  Its  deep  and  holy  com 
munion  with  God  was  beyond  the  reach  of  their  vio 
lence.  Prayer  to  God  was  his  resort  and  his  relief. 

Liberated  from  durance  in  France,  he  sailed  for  Eng 
land,  where,  under  his  preaching,  many  were  converted 
from  popery.  Opposition  arose.  He  was  summoned 
before  the  Council,  in  whose  presence  he  triumphantly 


THE   SIX   JOHNS.  185 


vindicated  himself.  Even  preferment  in  the  English 
Church  was  offered  him,  which  he  declined  from  a  lofty 
obedience  to  the  dictates  of  conscience.  He  preferred 
his  "  forty  pounds  a  year"  with  a  clear  conscience  and 
the  liberty  of  Christ  to  all  other  preferment ;  blowing 
the  trumpet  of  the  Gospel  through  England  until  the 
accession  of  the  bloody  Queen  Mary  compelled  him  to 
retire  to  the  Continent.  He  landed  at  Dieppe,  and 
thence  made  his  way  to  Switzerland.  He  was  wel 
comed  to  Geneva  by  John  Calvin,  a  kindred  spirit. 
Thence  he  sent  his  "  Admonition  to  England,"  an  epis 
tle  burning  with  the  vehement  enthusiasm  of  his  na 
ture.  Having  revisited  Scotland,  and  preached  with 
his  usual  energy,  awakening  the  usual  opposition,  he 
returned  to  Geneva,  in  order  to  accept  the  proffered 
pastorate  of  the  English  congregation  in  that  city. 
There  he  published  Eis  "  Letter  to  the  Queen  Regent," 
and  his  "First  Blast  of  the  Trumpet,"  no  uncertain 
sound  from  his  lips.  After  five  years  spent  in  Geneva, 
Knox  returned  to  Scotland,  though  the  minions  of  the 
Queen  had  sentenced  him  to  death  for  heresy,  and 
burned  him  in  effigy  at  the  market  cross  in  Edinburgh. 
It  was  a  critical  and  turbulent  period.  Antagonistical 
elements  were  in  high  effervescence.  Persecution  on 
one  side  was  met  with  fiery  resistance  on  the  other, 
and  from  arguments,  controversies,  and  appeals,  men 
proceeded  to  acts  of  violence  incredible  to  us  who  dwell 
in  these  peaceful  times.  To  judge  of  such  an  age  by 
the  light  of  our  own  would  be  unjust. 

From  this  period,  it  may  truly  be  said,  the  history 
of  Knox  becomes  the  history  of  Scotland.  His  earnest 
spirit  and  pushing  mind  subdued  all  before  it.  He 


186  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

was  endowed  with  qualities  eminently  fitted  for  the 
times.  Sir  Walter  Scott  says  :  "  The  eloquence  of  this 
extraordinary  and  undaunted  preacher  was  calculated 
to  work  on  the  stubborn  and  rough  men  to  whom  it 
was  addressed." 

Not  alone  on  such.  The  mind  of  Queen  Mary  was 
deeply  agitated  under  the  solemn  denunciations,  the 
moving  appeals,  the  fearless  eloquence  of  Knox.  The 
thunders  of  the  pulpit  shook  the  foundations  of  the 
throne,  and  the  voice  of  the  Reformer  was  as  the  tones 
of  the  prophet  Elijah  in  the  ear  of  the  guilty  Queen 
Jezebel,  whose  soul  was  stained  with  the  blood  of  the 
innocents.  Mary  feared  and  hated  him.  What  an 
original  would  that  have  been  for  the  stern  and  scorn 
ful  muse  of  Byron !  Her  youth,  her  beauty,  all  suf 
fused  in  tears,  could  not  seduce,  her  regal  dignity 
could  not  awe  him  into  compliance  with  any  of  her  un 
godly  behests.  Nor  could  all  her  queenly,  popish  craft 
fasten  on  him  the  guilt  of  treason. 

After  great  labors  in  preaching  and  settling  the  pol 
ity  of  the  Reformed  Church,  and  great  dangers  from 
her  enemies,  his  health  began  to  decline.  He  preached 
the  installation  sermon  of  his  successor,  Mr.  Lawson, 
in  the  Tolbooth  Church,  and  prayed  with  extraordinary 
fervor.  Exhausted  by  the  service,  he  descended  from 
the  pulpit,  leaning  upon  his  staff,  and  walked  along 
the  street,  which  was  lined  with  his  flock,  who  followed 
him  to  his  house,  whence  he  never  emerged,  except  as 
borne  in  the  hearse  of  the  dead.  "  God  knows,"  said 
he  in  his  dying  hour,  "that  my  mind  was  always  void 
of  hatred  to  the  persons  of  those  against  whom  I  thun 
dered  the  severest  judgments."  That  is  an  honest 


THE   SIX  JOHNS. 


hour,  and  he  must  have  spoken  as  truly  as  when  he 
said  :  "  I  protest  before  God  and  his  holy  angels,  that 
I  never  studied  to  please  man,  never  indulged  my  own 
private  passions."  Many  striking  things  did  he  utter  in 
his  last  hours.  His  whole  testimony  was  intrepid,  un- 
i  altering,  and  complete.  His  dying,  like  his  living, 
was  strong,  impressive,  and  giant-like.  His  conflicts 
with  the  adversary  were  terrific,  but  terminated  in  a 
decisive  and  glorious  victory.  He  died  November  21st, 
1572,  at  the  age  of  sixty-six.  He  praised  God  for  what 
he  called  the  "heavenly  sound"  of  prayer.  Near  mid 
night  he  sighed  deeply,  and  exclaiming,  "  Now  it  is 
come"  yielded  his  breath  to  God.  A  mighty  spirit 
was  then  dismissed  to  its  everlasting  repose.  Repose, 
indeed,  it  must  have  been  to  one  whose  life  presented 
such  a  scene  of  trial  as  that  of  John  Knox.  Flying 
from  place  to  place  under  persecution ;  a  wandering 
exile  from  his  native  land ;  repeatedly  condemned  for 
heresy,  and  proclaimed  an  outlaw ;  thrice  accused  of 
high  treason,  and  twice  tried  for  it ;  a  price  set  on  his 
head  ;  assassins  hired  to  murder  him,  and  his  life  actu 
ally  attempted  with  the  dagger  and  the  pistol;  the 
throne  and  the  altar  leagued  in  deadly  hostility  against 
him,  yet,  like  Luther,  he  died  peacefully  in  his  bed. 
And  when  the  earth  closed  over  his  dust,  Morton,  the 
regent,  uttered  the  memorable  and  the  merited  eulo- 
gium :  "  THERE  LIES  HE  WHO  NEVER  FEARED  THE  FACE 

OF  MAN." 

THE  FOURTH  JOHN— CALVIN. 

Four  years  after  the  birth  of  John  Knox,  came  John 
Calvin  into  the  world.     The  month  of  July,  1509,  first 


188  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

shone  upon  the  cradle  of  the  infant  Reformer.  Sturdy 
Scotland  produced  the  one ;  versatile  France  the  other. 
What  a  treasure  did  God  intrust  to  the  arms  of  that 
French  mother !  What  a  spirit  did  he  put  within  the 
breast  of  that  father  to  overcome  the  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  educating  his  brilliant  son !  That  youthful  mind 
expanded  with  his  years,  and  gave  signs  of  a  promise 
which,  in  the  lapse  of  time,  was  abundantly  fulfilled. 
Invested,  at  a  suitable  age,  with  a  benefice  in  the 
Cathedral  Church  at  Noyou,  he  preached  frequently, 
but  unsatisfactorily  to  himself.  He  studied  the  SCRIP 
TURES,  and  they  condemned  him.  The  light  in  which 
he  walked  was  not  their  light.  Disgusted  with  Roman 
ism,  he  resolved  to  renounce  it.  Impressed  with  the 
purity  and  majesty  of  Christian  doctrine,  he  abandoned 
his  puerilities.  Charmed  with  the  spirituality  of  the 
Gospel,  he  embraced  it  with  the  cordiality  of  a  young 
convert. 

But  he  turned  to  the  law,  and  in  the  law  became 
more  eminent  than  his  teachers.  After  his  father's 
death,  he  resumed  theology  at  Paris,  to  the  joy  of  the 
friends  of  the  Reformation.  At  Strasburg,  to  which  he 
retired,  he  published  his  Christian  Institutes,  a  work 
distinguished  for  its  perspicuity  of  thought  and  arrange 
ment,  the  elegance  of  its  latinity,  and  the  energy  of  its 
doctrine.  As  a  standard  of  theology,  its  fame  coex- 
tends  with  theological  mind.  Visiting  Italy,  he  was 
driven  from  that  priest-ridden  country  by  the  menaces 
of  the  Inquisition.  Returning  to  France,  he  was  met 
by  the  ubiquitous  demon  of  Rome,  and  again  set  his 
face  toward  Strasburg,  but  was  arrested  at  Geneva  by 
the  entreaties  of  Farel  and  others,  who  prevailed  on 


THE   SIX   JOHNS.  189 


him  to  make  it  his  home,  and  the  field  of  his  labors. 
The  boldness  and  severity  of  his  denunciation  of  the 
vices  of  the  city  awakened  the  hostility  of  many,  and 
an  order  of  council  was  procured  for  his  expulsion  from 
among  them !  But  God  vindicated  his  servant,  and  he 
was  afterward  earnestly  recalled.  Happy  hour  for 
Geneva !  He  became  her  light,  her  guide,  her  glory. 
ISTot  alone  as  a  minister  of  Christ  did  he  execute  great 
things  on  that  field  of  his  fame.  As  a  civilian,  he  oc 
cupied  an  eminent  position,  aud  stamped  the  impress 
of  his  great  mind  on  the  institutions  of  a  city  with 
whose  immortality  he  has  linked  his  own.  His  labors 

.were  multiform,  his  industry  incredible. 

Like  Luther  and  Knox,  he  was  no  foe  to  controversy 
when  the  occasion  demanded,  and  those  were  times 
fertile  in  the  sources  of  controversy.  The  temper  of  his 
theological  weapons  was  by  no  means  tame,  and  the 
severity  of  his  satire  rather  to  be  excused  by  the  char 
acter  of  the  times  than  imitated  in  these  more  courteous 
days.  The  resources  of  his  mind  were  immense ;  the 
energy  of  his  will  bore  down  all  opposition. 

The  magistrates  of  Geneva  punished  the  blasphe 
mies  of  Servetus  with  the  flames,  and  Calvin  approved 
the  deed.  It  is  a  stain  on  his  memory  which  it  is  im 
possible  to  obliterate,  and  useless  to  cover.  Men  did 
not  then  look  at  such  things  as  we  do.  They  were 
ready,  like  the  gentle  John  in  the  Saviour's  family, 
to  call  down  fire  from  heaven  upon  those  who  would 
not  receive  Christ.  Let  us  neither  reproach  their 
memory,  nor  imitate  their  example.  Every  age  has 
its  blots,  and  can  see  those  of  every  other  age,  but 
not  its  own  Rome  taught  the  dreadful  lesson  of  per- 


190  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 

secution  for  opinion's  sake,  and  it  took  centuries  to  un 
learn  it. 

Calvin  established  an  academy  at  Geneva,  the  fame 
of  which  spread  far  and  wide.  Berga  was  his  learned 
helper.  Students  came  from  various  countries  to  be 
instructed  by  them.  Our  Reformer's  expositions  of  the 
Scriptures  are  lucid,  pertinent,  and  pregnant.  His  was 
one  of  those  clear,  transparent,  and  energetic  minds 
that  illuminate  whatever  they  touch,  and  impart  new 
force  to  old  truths.  It  was  a  classifying-,  systematizing 
mind.  It  dwelt  not  among  fictions,  was  captivated 
by  no  transcendental  vagaries,  led  astray  by  no  phan 
tom  lights  gendered  in  the  bog  of  a  depraved  imagi 
nation.  He  beheld  those  imperishable  words,  "All 
Scripture  is  given  ~by  inspiration  of  God"  drawn  by 
the  finger  of  God  himself  in  indelible  characters,  and 
the  truth  filled  and  fired  his  soul.  He  felt  the  spirit- 
stirring  influence  of  that  other  truth,  "  the  word  of  God 
is  not  ~boimd"  and  taught  the  world  on  what  basis  the 
character  of  its  freedom  must  rest.  His  "  mind  was  to 
him  a  kingdom,"  and  millions  of  freeborn  minds  have 
acknowledged  its  supremacy.  This  is  the  highest  tri 
umph  of  man,  "  made  in  the  image  of  God."  The  sword 
can  only  drink  the  blood  of  its  victims,  whether  wield- 
( d  amid  the  fury  of  persecution  or  the  terrors  of  war. 
It  alters  no  truth,  settles  no  principle,  redeems  no  er 
ror.  But  the  free,  inquisitive,  argumentative  spirit 
of  a  great  heaven-commissioned  leader  in  the  conflict 
of  minds,  the  war  of  truth  against  error,  is  that  which 
achieves  truly  noble  triumphs.  The  gratitude  of  men 
erects  memorials  to  such  all  over  the  world.  "The 
Word  of  God  is  ABOVE  ALL,"  said  Luther.  "  Here  is 


THE    SIX   JOHNS.  191 


my  hold,  my  stand,  my  resting-place,  my  glory,  and 
my  triumph.  At  Leipsic,  at  Augsburg,  at  Worms,  my 
spirit  was  as  FREE  as  the  flower  of  the  field." 

So  with  Knox,  Calvin,  and  all  those  of  that  illustrious 
time. 

Calvin,  too,  died  strongly.  In  the  latter  years  of  his 
life,  he  was  subject  to  severe  bodily  infirmities,  such  as 
have  chastened  many  a  restless  and  irritable  spirit,  and 
imprinted  deep  in  the  soul  the  sense  of  humiliation. 
Pains  in  the  head,  dyspepsia  in  the  stomach,  the  ague, 
the  gout,  and  the  stone,  alternately  or  simultaneously, 
preyed  on  his  system,  and  gave  timely  notice  that  the 
tabernacle  of  clay  must  soon  be  dissolved.  "  Weakness 
and  pain,"  as  Baxter  said  of  himself,  "  helped  him  to 
study  how  to  die,  that  set  him  on  studying  how  to  live, 
and  that  on  studying  the  doctrine  from  which  he  must 
fetch  his  motives  and  comforts." 

"How  long,  O  Lord?"  would  Calvin  exclaim,  in 
the  depth  of  his  agony.  The  last  scene  was  sublimely 
impressive.  The  ministers  were  assembled  in  his  room 
to  hear  his  dying  charge,  he  having  before  addressed 
the  Syndics  in  their  assembly  convened  for  the  pur 
pose.  Having  discharged  this  duty,  he  gave  himself 
up  to  incessant  prayer  to  God,  and  thus  breathed  out 
his  spirit  in  peace  and  faith.  His  death  occurred  on 
the  25th  of  May,  1564,  at  the  age  of  fifty-four. 

"  When  he  departed,  he  took  a  man's  life  along  with 
him ;"  ay,  many  a  life  to  which  he  gave  vitality  and 
power.  If,  as  an  eminent  writer*  has  said,  the  Scotch  na 
tional  character  originated  chiefly  in  "  the  Presbyterian 

*  Carlyle. 


192  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

Gospel  of  John  Knox,"  adding,  in  his  review  of  Scott's 
works,  "let  Walter  Scott  thank  John  Knox,  for  he 
owed  him  much,  little  as  he  dreamed  of  debt  in  that 
quarter,"  what  shall  we  say  of  the  indebtedness  of  na 
tions  to  John  Calvin,  whose  spirit  and  principles  have 
exerted  such  an  immense  influence  on  the  liberties  of 
the  civilized  world,  to  say  nothing  of  their  influence  on 
the  free  Church  of  God  ?  His  grave,  it  is  said,  cannot 
be  found.  Nor  could  that  of  Moses,  the  Liberator  of 
the  Church  from  Egyptian  bondage.  But  God  buried 
him,  and  he  will  find  the  treasure,  though  "no  man 
knoweth  of  his  sepulcher  unto  this  day,"  but  every 
man  knoweth  where  the  mind  of  such  a  man  is.  It  is 
here  with  us  at  this  moment.  The  world  is  its  domain. 

THE  FIFTH  JOHN— BUNYAN. 

Here  is  a  character.  "Who  does  not  know  the  his 
tory  of  John  Bunyan  ?  More  than  two  centuries  ago 
(1628)  was  born  the  "  Tinker  of  Elstowe,"  of  poor,  but 
honest  parents.  'No  more  remarkable  John  than  this 
ever  appeared  on  earth  among  uninspired  men.  Des 
titute  of  all  earthly  titles,  he  gloried  chiefly  in  the  ap 
pellation  of  a  son  of  God.  Destitute  of  worldly  wealth, 
he  was  too  happy  in  the  "  true  riches"  of  the  Gospel  to 
envy  those  who  possessed  it.  Destitute  of  learning,  he 
drank  in  the  "knowledge  of  God,"  and  having  in 
structed  millions,  is  yet  to  instruct  millions  more  in 
the  ways  of  God.  "  As  poor,  yet  making  many  rich ; 
as  having  nothing,  yet  possessing  all  things."  Desti 
tute  of  power  in  the  sense  in  which  its  elements  are 
ordinarily  constructed  in  society,  he  was  the  most  power- 


THE    SIX    JOIIA'S. 


ful  man  of  his  age.  Bereaved  of  his  liberty,  that  birth 
right  of  man,  "  noble  and  divine  in  his  birht,"  for  twelve 
long  and  desolate  years,  which  he  spent  in  Bedford 
Jail,  he  has  been  the  means  of  emancipating  from 
bondage  a  great  multitude  of  minds,  which  no  man  can 
number.  Deprived  of  the  sympathy  of  the  petty  ty 
rants  by  whom  he  was  surrounded,  posterity  is  com 
pensating  him  a  thousand-fold  with  its  vast  affection. 
Condemned  by  judicial  authority,  with  all  the  pomp 
and  severity  of  that  persecuting  age,  the  sentence  of 
his  heartless,  merciless  judges,  has  long  since  been  re 
versed,  and  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  elevated  in  the 
estimation  of  men  far  above  the  degree  of  the  magis 
trates  on  the  bench.  Firmness,  conscientiousness,  and 
benevolence  were  three  capital  features  of  the  moral 
character  of  John  Bunyan.  In  the  exercise  of  the  first, 
he  resisted  the  most  urgent  temptations  to  step  aside 
from  the  path  of  duty.  In  that  of  the  second,  he  pre 
ferred  tearing  himself  from  a  fond,  helpless,  and  depend 
ent  family,  and  lying  in  a  loathsome  jail,  to  violating  his 
conscience  toward  God.  "  The  parting  with  my  poor 
wife  and  children,"  he  says,  with  affecting  simplicity  and 
inimitable  pathos,  "hath  often  been  to  me  in  this  place 
as  the  pulling  the  flesh  from  the  bones — because  I 
should  often  have  brought  to  my  mind  the  many  hard 
ships,  miseries,  and  wants  that  my  poor  family  was 
like  to  meet  with,  should  I  be  taken  from  them,  espe 
cially  my  poor  blind  cliild,  who  lay  nearer  to  my  heart 
than  all  besides.  Oh!  the  thought  of  the  hardships 
my  poor  blind  one  might  go  under  would  break  my 
heart  to  pieces.  Poor  child !  thought  I,  what  sorrow 
art  thou  like  to  have  for  thy  portion  in  this  world. 

9 


194  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 

Thou  must  be  beaten ;  must  beg ;  suffer  hunger,  cold, 
nakedness,  and  a  thousand  calamities,  though  I  can 
not  now  endure  the  wind  should  blow  upon  thee !" 

That  was  the  outbreaking  of  the  deep  fountain  of 
parental  feeling.  Yet  the  pulsations  of  grace  were 
stronger  than  the  beatings  of  that  overmastering  sensi 
bility.  Bunyan  was  willing  to  leave  his  poor  blind 
child  in  the  hands  of  God,  but  not  willing  to  deny  the 
Lord  that  bought  him.  Oh,  for  the  history  of  that 
child !  Did  it  sink  under  the  neglect  of  a  selfish  and 
pitiless  world,  like  some  tender  and  less  comely  bud 
that  is  abandoned  to  wither  and  die,  or  was  it  nursed 
by  that  noble-hearted  step-mother,  who  bore  so  intrepid 
a  testimony  before  the  iron-hearted  judges  that  con 
demned  her  husband,  and  demanded  his  release  from 
a  cruel  and  unjust  imprisonment?  "My  lord,"  said 
she  to  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  "  I  have  four  small  children 
that  cannot  help  themselves,  one  of  which  is  blind,  and 
we  have  nothing  to  live  upon  but  the  charity  of  good 
people."  Where  were  the  tender  mercies  of  that  much 
eulogized  minister  of  the  law?  The  whole  scene  in 
court,  in  which  Elizabeth  Bunyan  is  the  chief  object  of 
attention,  was  of  surpassing  interest.  A  Lady  Russell 
or  a  Jeanie  Deans  could  not  have  demeaned  her 
self  with  more  womanly  dignity,  propriety,  self-devo 
tion,  and  high  moral  courage  than  did  Elizabeth  Bun 
yan,  the  humble  wife  of  the  tinker  of  Elstowe.  "  He 
Breached  nothing  but  the  word  of  God"  said  she,  with 
a  clear,  but  tremulous  voice. 

But  the  judges  were  inexorable.  Some  of  them,  as 
Keeling  and  Snagg,  sported  with  the  sorrows  or  scorn 
ed  the  devotion  of  this  heroic  woman.  And  thus  it 


THE   SIX   JOHNS. 


was,  while  innocent  John  Bunyan  and  his  family  were 
enduring  a  living  martyrdom  for  the  truth's  sake  and 
liberty's  sake,  the  imperial  profligate,  Charles  II.,  the 
crowned  King  of  the  realm  and  head  of  the  Church, 
was  reveling  among  his  harlots,  and  converting  the 
palace  into  a  brothel.  Truly  there  must  be  a  DAY  OF 
JUDGMENT  !  ~Not  always  shall  the  righteous  say :  "  I 
considered  all  the  oppressions  done  under  the  sun,  and 
beheld  the  tears  of  the  oppressed,  and  they  had  no 
comforter ;  and  on  the  side  of  their  oppressors  there 
was  power,  but  they  had  no  comforter."  They  have 
all  gone  up  to  the  vestibule  of  the  great  judgment  tri 
bunal  to  await  the  last  dread  and  decisive  day.  Give 
me,  then,  Bunyan's  crown,  and  the  kings  and  queens 
of  earth  shall  be  welcome  to  all  the  glory  of  their  faded 
diadems. 

The  'benevolence  of  Bunyan — it  shone  in  all  his  ac 
tions,  for  it  was  breathed  into  his  heart  by  the  Spirit 
of  God,  and  kept  alive  by  communion  with  -the  Bible, 
and  with  the  various  forms  of  suffering  humanity.  The 
worst  wish  he  had  for  his  worst  enemy  was  salvation  j 
forgiveness  in  heaven  and  on  earth.  It  is  the  soul  of 
his  Pilgrim's  Progress,  that  immortal  book,  one  of  the 
few  gifts  accepted  by  the  WOELD  :  the  charm  of  child 
hood,  and  the  solace  of  age ;  the  companion  of  the  sim 
ple,  and  the  study  of  the  learned ;  at  once  the  offspring 
and  the  admiration  of  genius ;  a  perfect  panorama  of 
the  inward  life  of  the  Christian,  and  a  moral  painting, 
not  only  truthful  even  to  the  minutest  touch,  but  har 
monious  in  all  its  proportions,  and  of  a  style  of  execu 
tion  and  tone  of  coloring,  which  commend  the  work  to 
the  applause  of  the  world.  So  the  Christian  poet, 


GLEAXIXGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 


in  the  ardor  of  grateful  enthusiasm,  apostrophizes  the 

memory  of  the  Christian  Pilgrim  : 

. 

"  Oh  !  thou,  whom,  borne  on  Fancy's  eager  wing 
Back  to  the  season  of  life's  happy  Spring, 
I  pleased  remember,  and  while  mem'ry  yet 
Holds  fast  her  office  here,  can  ne'er  forget. 
Ingenious  dreamer !  in  whose  well-told  tale 
Sweet  fiction  and  sweet  truth  alike  prevail, 
Whose  humorous  vein,  strong  sense,  aud  simple  style, 
May  teach  the  gayest,  make  the  gravest  smile, 
Witty,  and  well  employed,  and,  like  thy  Lord, 
Speaking  in  parables  his  slightest  word." 

' 

Thou  pilgrim !  thou  wast  thyself  a  poet  of  high  rank 
in  the  empire  of  the  imagination,  and  thy  commission 
bore  the  broad  seal  of  heaven. 

The  Pilgrim's  Progress  is,  in  fact,  an  exalted  epic, 
even  according  to  the  most  philosophical  definition  of 
that  term.  Yiewed  as  to  its  matter,  it  embraces  strik 
ing  incidents,  charming  episodes,  salient  characters, 
ingenious  machinery,  and  high-toned  morals.  Contem 
plated  as  to  its  form,  it  includes  a  simple  and  natural 
style,  apt  and  bold  figures,  fascinating  narrative,  pure 
and  holy  sentiments,  sublime  and  beautiful  descrip 
tions.  Regarded  in  its  end,  it  transcends  all  the  mas 
ter-pieces  of  the  human  mind ;  for,  while  in  them  we 
find  patriotism,  the  love  of  virtue,  the  love  of  applause, 
heroic  valor,  or  heroic  suffering  set  forth  as  the  highest 
exercise  of  noble  spirits,  in  this  work  the  grand  cyno 
sure  of  the  author  appears  to  be  the  glory  of  God  and 
the  happiness  of  heaven.  Thus  while  the  law  of  the 
epic  in  its  three-fold  distribution  was  unconsciously 
observed  by  this  profound  student  of  the  human  heart 


THE   SIX   JOHNS. 


and  eminent  master  of  the  sympathies  of  our  nature, 
he  was  at  the  same  time  accomplishing  a  high  spiritual 
enterprise,  such  as  was  never  reached  by  the  aspira 
tions  of  mere  genius.  And  his  position  in  the  temple 
of  fame,  while  sufficiently  exalted  to  satisfy  the  most 
intense  ambition  of  aspiring  minds,  be  it  known,  was 
attained  by  no  sacrifice  of  virtue  to  vice ;  by  pander 
ing  to  no  passion,  shedding  no  blood,  trampling  on  no 
rights,  human  or  divine. 

We  sympathize  with  Milton  in  his  blindness,  com 
posing  his  undying  epic.  But  that  bereavement  was 
even  propitious  to  a  deeper  communion  with  the  spirit 
of  song.  Not  so  the  loathsome  prison-house.  Inspira 
tion  would  fly  at  sight  of  its  stone  walls  and  iron  grates. 
But  God  was  with  him.  And  that  little  sympathizing 
blind  daughter  shared  the  gloom  and  solitude  of  his 
imprisonment ;  shall  I  say  to  the  comfort  or  the  dis 
tress  of  her  affectionate  father,  for  while  her  presence 
cheered  him,  the  idea  that  she  must  be  there !  this 
troubled  his  heroic  soul.  But  we  alone  are  left  to  weep 
over  miseries  thus  wantonly  inflicted.  The  innocent 
sufferers  have  long  since  slept  the  quiet  sleep  of  death, 
the  ambrosial  slumbers  of  a  heaven-blessed  grave ;  and 
their  happy  spirits  are  with  God,  "  where  the  wicked 
cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest."  Oh, 
what  impulses  of  holy  gratitude  must  the  spirit  of  Bun- 
yan  feel  as  it  contemplates  the  results  of  his  incarcera 
tion  in  Bedford  Jail ! 

THE  SIXTH  JOHN— WESLEY. 

"  Come,  neighbors,  let  us  kneel  down ;  let  us  give 
thanks  to  God;  he  has  given  me  all  my  eight  children; 


198  GLEANINGS  AND   GROUPINGS. 

let  the  house  go,  I  am  rich  enough."  Such  was  the 
impassioned  exclamation  of  Samuel  Wesley,  Rector  of 
Epworth,  Lincolnshire,  as  he  beheld  the  conflagration 
of  his  own  house  on  that  memorable  night  when  among 
the  SAVED  was  JOHN  WESLEY,  his  second  son,  who  ever 
afterward  inscribed  on  his  soul  that  memento :  "  Is 
not  this  a  brand  plucked  out  of  the  fore  ? "  Yes,  and 
"behold  how  great  a  matter  a  little  fire  kindleth!" 
The  firebrand  was  not  extinguished,  but  sent  out  a 
great  light.  It  flashed  athwart  the  deep  sea  that  sep 
arates  two  continents.  On  what  small  contingencies  do 
the  greatest  results  depend !  If  the  wall  of  that  house 
had  fallen  outward  instead  of  inward,  the  child  John 
would  have  been  crushed  to  death.  If  one  man  had 
not  stood  on  the  shoulders  of  another,  and  thus  rescued 
John,  he  would  probably  have  perished  in  the  flames. 
If  John  himself,  who,  amid  the  alarm  and  confusion, 
had  been  left  asleep  in  his  bed,  had  not,  on  waking, 
sprung  from  that  bed  with  great  activity  and  climbed 
up  that  chest  by  the  window,  where  he  could  be  seen, 
he  would  have  been  simply  burned  to  death,  as  thou 
sands  of  poor  children  have  been,  but  the  record  would 
soon  have  been  forgotten.  Yet  where  would  Method 
ism  have  been  ?  What  events  in  the  social,  religious, 
or  political  world  would  have  filled  up  that  chasm  ? 
Conjecture  here  may  truly  be  said  to  be  "  at  sea."  Ima 
gination  takes  wing,  and  expatiates  through  the  illim 
itable  field  without  restraint  and  without  certainty. 
Blessed,  then,  and  welcome  to  our  hearts  is  the  doc 
trine  that  God  "  worketh  all  things  after  the  counsel  of 
his  own  will,"  and  that  he  "foreordains  whatsoever 
cometh  to  pass." 


THE   SIX   JOHNS.  199 


Many  "  second  causes,"  or  subordinate  agencies  con 
curred,  under  the  guidance  of  Infinite  "Wisdom,  in 
forming  the  character  and  influence  of  John  "Wesley, 
among  which  was  a  superior  MOTHER. 

Susannah  Wesley  stamped  the  being  who  was  to 
impress  himself  on  millions.  Under  God,  she  con 
structed  the  mold  into  which  such  a  host  of  minds  was 
to  be  delivered.  Filial  veneration  pervaded  his  spirit 
to  the  last.  John  began  to  dabble  in  poetry.  His 
mother  checked  this  propensity,  so  besetting  to  a  youth 
ful  imagination.  "  Poetry  may  be  your  occasional 
diversion,  never  your  business."  That  piece  of  mater 
nal  wisdom  has  had  its  influence  on  the  world. 

As  a  dialectician  he  was  more  successful.  At  the 
University  he  learned  to  chop  logic  with  so  much  skill, 
that  he  could  prove  almost  any  thing  he  desired,  wheth 
er  it  was  "too  much"  or  too  little.  His  mind  was 
one  of  ethereal  activity,  and,  like  his  lithe  and  compact 
little  body,  ever  in  motion.  He  was  the  incarnation  of 
industry.  Without  the  deep-toned  passions,  the  melt 
ing  tenderness,  or  the  fiery  impetuosity  of  Whitefield, 
he  nevertheless  wrought  effectually  upon  the  opinions 
and  sensibilities  of  men,  and  that  with  a  systematic  en 
ergy,  which  sooner  or  later  prostrated  the  most  formi 
dable  obstacles.  Specific  and  practical  in  his  plans, 
he  made  them  all  tell  on  human  interests,  and  indulged 
no  visions  of  the  ideal  and  the  beautiful,  which  were 
destined  never  to  be  realized.  He  did,  indeed,  some 
times  dream  with  his  eyes  awake,  but  then  it  was 
about  small  matters,  such  as  ghosts,  hobgoblins,  sor 
tilege,  impressions,  and  the  like,  but  these  vagaries 
disturbed  not  the  great  tenor  of  his  life,  impaired  not 


200  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


the  vigor  of  his  movements,  relaxed  not  the  rigor  of 
his  autocratic  discipline.  Born  to  command,  he  ex 
acted  implicit  obedience,  and  gave  a  new  and  impres 
sive  meaning  to  the  term  Christian  Soldier,  when  he 
formed  his  army,  and  mustered  the  "  sacramental  host" 
to  battle  against  the  principalities  and  powers  of  dark 
ness. 

So,  too,  he  was  a  rigid  self-disciplinarian.  He  com 
manded  his  appetites,  his  passions,  even  his  emotions ; 
and  sleep  itself  submitted  to  the  government  of  his 
iron  will.  Taylor's  Holy  Living  and  Law's  Serious 
Call  to  a  devout  and  holy  life  contributed  much  to  the 
furnishing,  perhaps  to  the  formation  of  his  spiritual  in 
terior,  while  lie  drank  eagerly  of  the  spirit  of  the  pious 
and  humble  Moravians.  He  loved  their  doctrine  of 
assurance,  their  exaltation  of  Christ.  Living  eminently 
by  method,  he  earned  for  himself,  his  associates,  and 
followers,  the  name  Methodists,  much  in  the  same  way 
as  other  good  men  have  been  provided  with  the  appel 
lation  of  Puritans,  Pietists,  &c.,  converting  reproach 
into  honor,  and  taunt  into  triumph.  An  Archbishop 
called  him  a  "dark,  saturnine  creature ;"  but  Dr.  John 
son  said,  "  His  conversation  is  good ;  he  talks  well  on 
any  subject;  I  could  converse  with  him  all  night." 
His  conversational  powers  were  of  a  high  order.  There 
was  a  sprightliness  about  him,  a  fascination  of  man 
ner  to  the  last,  that  threw  its  spell  on  those  who  com 
muned  with  him.  Few  could  keep  outside  the  enchanted 
circle. 

Thoughtful  and  sagacious,  he  read  men,  and  quickly 
discerned  the  spirits  that  could  best  be  summoned  as 
auxiliaries  in  his  work.  He  accepted  services  with 


THE   SIX   JOHNS.  201 


dignity,  and  rejected  them  with  urbanity.  The  ab 
straction  of  the  scholar  did  not  impair  the  politeness  of 
the  gentleman.  Ardent  and  even  quick  of  temper,  he 
is  said  to  have  been  placable  and  forgiving,  though  he 
could  submit  to  no  dictation  from  his  preachers  or 
people.  Aut  Ccesar  dut  niliil.  This  is  the  testimony 
of  his  intimate  friend  and  admirer,  Whitehead. 

His  labors  were  immense.  For  fifty-two  years  he 
generally  delivered  two,  sometimes  three  or  four  ser 
mons  a  day ;  in  all  upward  of  40,000.  They  were  often 
short,  occupying  fifteen,  twenty,  or  thirty  minutes,  ac 
cording  to  the  necessities  of  the  occasion.  There  might 
not  be  much  in  them — at  least  in  many  of  them — but 
his  object  being  briefly  accomplished  in  one  place,  he 
pushed  for  another,  studying  and  praying  as  he  trav 
eled.  Persecution,  opposition,  abuse  often  met  him, 
but  these  only  nerved  to  higher  endeavors  for  the  good 
of  men,  and  a  more  patient  endurance  of  wrongs  from 
the  wicked.  The  whole  strain  of  his  life  and  labors 
was  an  unfaltering  rebuke  of  the  apathy,  the  formality, 
and  the  fruitlessness  of  the  Established  Church,  yet  he 
was  a  minister  of  that  church.  He  was  in  it,  but  not 
of  it,  at  least  in  spirit. 

Nor  did  he  preach  in  full  the  doctrines  to  which  he 
had  subscribed.  He  even  denied  some  of  them.  He 
never  attained  to  the  lofty  and  soul-sustaining  views 
which  his  friend  Whitefield  took  of  the  sovereign 
decrees  of  God  and  the  glory  of  electing  grace. 

Disparagingly  has  it  been  said  that  he  made  converts 
only  of  the  "lower  orders."  It  is  his  crown  and  glory. 
"  To  the  poor  the  GOSPEL  is  preached."  And  this  Gos 
pel  has  been  embraced  by  many  of  rank  and  intellect. 

9* 


202  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

The  visit  of  Wesley  to  this  country  was  a  failure.  All 
men — especially  all  efficient  men — must  have  their 
mortifications.*  This  Continent  was  to  be  reached  by 
him  in  a  different  way,  and  most  effectually  does  it  feel 
his  influence.  Statesmen,  jurists,  divines,  professional 
men  of  all  sorts  in  this  broad  and  free  land,  have  be 
come  disciples  under  his  name,  and  the  poor  man  that 
escaped  in  reproach  from  Savannah,  and  embarked  in 
sadness  at  night  in  an  open  boat  for  England,  will  be 
remembered  to  the  latest  posterity.  Wesley  an  mis 
sions,  too,  are  circling  the  globe.  Behold  to  what  pur 
pose  one  man  can  live  ! 

He  has  been  called  "  the  most  charitable  man  in 
England."  The  accounts  of  his  liberality  are  incredi 
ble  to  this  money-grasping  age.  See  what  a  "poor 
minister"  can  do.  When  he  had  thirty  pounds  a  year, 
he  lived  on  twenty-eight,  and  gave  away  forty  shillings. 
He  next  year,  receiving  sixty  pounds,  still  lived  on 
twenty-eight,  and  gave  away  thirty-two.  The  fourth 
year  he  received  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  and, 
still  living  on  twenty-eight,  gave  ninet}r-two  to  the 
poor.  And  so  on  through  life.  In  this  way,  it  is  said, 
he  disposed  of  between  twenty  and  thirty  thousand 
pounds,  or  more  than  one  hundred  thousand  dollars ! 
Avarice  cries,  What  an  insane  waste  of  property !  Not 
so  the  spirit  of  benevolence.  It  lifts  its  voice,  and 
blesses  the  example.  Consider,  too,  what  immense 

*  "  It  is  now,"  says  Wesley  in  his  diary,  "  two  years  and  almost  four 
months  since  I  left  my  native  country  to  teach  the  Georgian  Indians 
the  nature  of  Christianity.  But  what  have  I  learned  myself  mean 
time  ?  Why,  what  I  least  of  all  suspected — that  I,  who  went  to  Amer 
ica  to  convert  others,  was  never  myself  converted  to  God  !" 


THE   SIX   JOHNS.  203 


sums  the  English  Methodists,  stimulated  by  that  exam 
ple  of  their  great  leader,  have  contributed  to  charitable 
objects. 

His  physical  constitution  was  superb.  "  Never  was 
a  constitution  less  abused,  less  spared,  or  more  excel 
lently  applied,  in  exact  subservience  to  the  faculties  of 
his  mind."  Three  things  in  him  wrought  wonders — 
Temperance,  Industry,  and  Economy  of  time — all  sys 
tematized.  His  rule  was,  that  his  people  should  be  "  all 
at  work,  and  always  at  work,"  like  himself.  And  thus 
it  is  to  this  day. 

In  his  eighty-seventh  year,  his  eye  was  still  bright, 
his  cheek  rosy,  his  natural  force  scarcely  abated.  But 
the  time  for  his  departure  at  length  came.  He  died 
on  the  2d  of  March,  1791,  in  the  eighty-eighth  year  of 
his  age,  and  the  sixty-fifth  of  his  ministry.  With 
his  expiring  breath  he  said :  "  The  best  of  all  is,  God 
is  with  us.  I'll  praise,  I'll  praise."  The  last  accent 
that  trembled  on  his  lips  was,  "  FAUEWELL." 


GLEANINGS   AND  GROUPINGS. 


XXVII, 
®l)e  ©anus  of 

"  No  man  was  more  foolish  when  he  had  not  a  pen 
in  his  hand,  or  more  wise  when  he  had.  As  a  writer, 
he  was  of  the  most  distinguished  abilities.  Whatever 
he  composed  he  did  it  better  than  any  other  man  could. 
And  whether  we  consider  him  as  a  poet,  as  a  comic 
writer,  or  as  an  historian  (so  far  as  regards  his  powers  of 
composition),  he  was  one  of  the  first  writers  of  his  time, 
and  will  ever  stand  in  the  foremost  class."  Such  is  the 
recorded  decision  of  one  who  may  not  inaptly  be  called 
the  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  the  Bench  of  Literature,  I 
mean  Samuel  Johnson.  It  is  quite  possible  that  the 
partiality  of  personal  friendship  might  have  contributed 
its  influence  to  the  formation  of  this  opinion,  for  that 
great  critic  possessed  strong  sympathies,  as  well  as  se 
vere  antipathies ;  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  an  en 
lightened  posterity  is  so  well  satisfied  with  the  judg 
ment,  as  to  feel  no  disposition  to  take  exceptions. 
There  has  been  since  the  days  of  Goldsmith  no  lack  of 
writers  of  all  sorts,  panting  and  scrambling  for  the  hon 
ors  of  literature ;  and  not  a  few  have  there  been  who 
have  thought  and  written  well,  some,  indeed,  with  supe 
rior  excellence.  But  to  me  it  seems  that  the  waiters  of 
the  present  century  have  been  too  much  inclined  to 
overstrain  the  machinery  of  the  intellect  and  the  ima 
gination  for  the  purpose  of  producing  such  articles  of 


THE   GENIUS    OF    GOLDSMITH.  205 

literary  manufacture,  as  would  show  well,  and  sell  well 
in  the  world's  market.  Brilliant  exceptions  there  are, 
but  generally  they  were  so  near  that  Augustan  age  of 
English  literature,  of  wrhich  Goldsmith  and  his  associ 
ates  were  leading  ornaments,  as  to  partake  of  its  spirit, 
and  enjoy  the  transfusion  of  its  elegance.  The  poetry 
of  this  age  has  become  another  thing  from  that  of  the 
time  of  Goldsmith.  It  is  more  ambitious,  impetuous, 
and  wildly  beautiful.  It  more  affects  the  strange,  the 
striking,  and  the  mysterious.  It  is  fond  of  impersona 
tions,  as  the  gay  yet  troubled  muse  of  Byron  can  testify. 

Goldsmith  had  his  personal  vices,  but  he  scorned  to 
invest  them  with  the  charms  of  poesy,  or  to  introduce 
himself  to  the  public  as  the  hero  of  any  scene  of  guilt 
into  which  his  baser  passions  might  have  betrayed  him. 
"With  all  the  practical  irregularities  of  a  life  whose 
course  seldom  ran  smooth,  he  would  never  exhibit  the 
beautiful  form  of  virtue,  for  the  sake  of  indulging  the 
mean  and  malignant  pleasure  of  a  fling  at  her  purity, 
nor  the  loathsome  form  of  vice,  for  the  purpose  of  deck 
ing  it  in  colors  not  its  own.  When  he  took  the  pen  to 
instruct  mankind,  he  forgot  his  vexations  and  his  vices, 
or  at  least  remembered  them  only  to  make  himself  use 
ful  in  the  reminiscence,  and  instead  of  yielding  to  the 
dark  spirit  of  misanthropy,  strove  to  cultivate  a  genial 
temper  of  mind,  which  is  finely  reflected  in  his  compo 
sitions. 

His  imagination  dwells  in  a  clear  and  crystal  light, 
untroubled  by  those  "  chimeras  dire,"  which  have  tor 
tured  "  the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine"  of  some 
modern  poets.  To  account  for  this,  we  must  remem 
ber  that  he  was  fortunate  in  his  early  associations,  and 


206          GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

his  childhood  education.  And  thus,  to  quote  the  sen 
timent  of  "Wordsworth,  we  see  how  "  the  child  is  father 
to  the  man." 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH  was  the  son  of  an  Irish  clergyman 
of  the  Established  Church,  the  Rev.  Charles  Goldsmith, 
of  Forney,*  in  the  county  of  Longford.  He  is  faith 
fully  represented  by  his  son  in  the  character  of  the  Vil 
lage  Preacher,  and  in  his  poem  of  the  "  Deserted  Til 
lage." 

"  A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich,  with  forty  pounds  a  year 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change  his  place." 

How  different  from  many  of  the  profession  in  these 
modern,  I  had  almost  said  revolutionary  days !  The 
whole  picture  is  exquisite.  Neither  the  pencil  nor  the 
chisel  could  have  conferred  such  immortality  on  the 
humble  rector  of  Forney.  Hear  this  portrait,  executed 
by  genius  under  the  impulse  of  filial  affection,  hangs 
that  of  the  Village  Schoolmaster,  and  both  are  as  famil 
iar  as  "  household  words."  The  best  lines  of  this  brief 
poem  and  that  of  the  "Traveler"  may  be  said  to  be 
stereotyped  on  the  public  memory.  Their  brevity  cost 
him  much  more  toil  than  those  longer  and  looser  works 
which  he  published  under  the  name  of  histories,  and 
for  which  he  received  hundreds  of  pounds.  It  was 
more  the  "  good-will"  of  his  celebrated  name,  than  the 
intrinsic  value  of  the  works,  that  caused  so  high  an  es- 

*  Two  villages  claim  the  honor  of  having  given  him  birth :  Forney,  in 
the  county  of  Longford,  and  Elphin,  in  the  county  of  Rosc.ommon.  The 
former  is  named  as  the  place  in  the  epitaph  by  Dr.  Johnson,  but  late  in 
vestigations  have  decided  in  favor  of  Elphin. 


THE   GENIUS   OF   GOLDSMITH.  207 

timate  to  be  placed  upon  them.  They  were  only  sub 
sidiary  to  those  finished  works,  which  constitute  the 
basis  of  his  fame ;  the  product  of  snatches  of  time  and  of 
spasmodic  diligence,  that  he  might  obtain  the  where 
withal  to  prosecute  more  important  efforts.  Gross  mis 
takes  in  point  of  fact  were  committed  by  our  compiler, 
nor  did  he  aspire  to  any  thing  like  the  philosophy  of 
history,  or  the  patient  investigation  of  moral  causes. 
And  in  obedience  to  the  great  law  of  human  action,  his 
reward  is  according  to  his  labor.  For  all  that  Gold 
smith  has  done,  history  cannot  be  said  to  be  the  better. 
He  has  neither  enlarged  her  sphere,  nor  enhanced  her 
dignity,  nor  settled  any  mooted  points  of  her  jurisdic 
tion.  But  his  powers  of  composition  were  so  excellent, 
the  charm  of  his  narrative  was  so  engaging,  that  if  they 
did  not  really  supply  the  deficiency,  they  compelled 
the  reader  to  forget  it.  When  Johnson  was  told  that 
his  friend  was  engaged  on  a  work  of  natural  history, 
he  observed,  "  He  will  make  it  as  agreeable  as  a  Per 
sian  tale."  'Yet  it  was  a  mere  copy  of  Bufton,  and 
might  be  called  Buffon  illuminated.  Cuvier  would  not 
read  it,  but  where  is  the  poet  that  would  not  read  the 
"  Traveler"  and  the  "  Deserted  Tillage  ;"  where  is  the 
mind  that  is  above  studying  the  "  Yicar  of  "Wakefield  P 
"  Nullum,  quod  tetigit  non  omavit"  was  one  of  the  ele 
giac  lines  inscribed  by  Johnson  on  the  tomb  of  Gold 
smith,  and  this  accounted  for  the  success  of  even  infe 
rior  attempts. 

Oliver  came  into  the  world  somewhat  unexpectedly, 
his  parents  having  for  years  supposed  that  they  had 
received  their  last  family  gift  from  heaven,  and  that 
no  more  olive-plants  were  to  bloom  around  their  table. 


208  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

J3ut  if  this  was  the  first,  it  was  not  the  last  time  he 
disappointed  them,  so  little  was  at  any  time  expected 
of  him.  His  father  was  too  poor  to  give  him  a  liberal 
education,  but  he  had  the  privilege  of  being  taught 
"  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic"  by  the  village 
schoolmaster,  who,  having  himself  led  a  wandering 
and  adventurous  life,  was  fond  of  reciting  its  story  to 
his  pupil,  whose  imagination  was  thus  stimulated,  and 
the  romantic  spirit  within  him  nurtured,  until  he  too 
resolved  to  become  a  wanderer  in  the  earth.  A  poet 
he  was  from  childhood,  for  at  the  age  of  seven  or  eight 
he  often  amused  his  father  and  his  friends  with  his 
poetical  effusions. 

Thus,  like  Pope,  he  might  have  been  said  "  to  lisp 
in  numbers ;"  the  Muses  rocked  his  cradle,  and  as  he 
lay  in  it,  "  the  bees  swarmed  about  his  mouth,"  as  did 
those  honey-hunters  about  the  mouth  of  Pindar  or 
Chrysostom.  He  scribbled  verses  before  he  could  write 
legibly,  and  hastened  to  dedicate  them  to  the  flames. 
His  mother  (ah,  ye  dear,  devoted  mothers !)  plead  for 
her  boy  with  the  father,  that  he  would  give  him  a  lib 
eral  education ;  but  alas !  his  pinched  income  and  nu 
merous  family  paralyzed  all  hope  of  doing  it.  In  this 
extremity,  the  Rev.  Thomas  Contarine,  Oliver's  uncle, 
stepped  forward  and  rendered  material  aid.  He  was 
sent  to  various  schools,  and  finally,  in  1744,  at  the  age 
of  fifteen,*  to  Dublin  College.  The  tutor,  Mr.  Wilder, 
a  man  of  choleric  temper,  having  been  provoked  by 
some  of  the  wild  freaks  of  Oliver,  flogged  him  in  a 
hasty  and  somewhat  too  public  manner.  Stung  with 
the  disgrace  of  this  punishment,  he  abandoned  his  stud- 

*  Born  29th  November,  1728. 


THE  GENIUS  OF  GOLDSMITH.  209 

ies  and  his  college  in  despair,  and  with  poverty  for  his 
most  intimate  companion,  commenced  traveling,  he 
scarcely  knew  whither.  Living  three  days  on  a  shil 
ling,  and  then  selling  his  garments  one  by  one  from  his 
back,  to  keep  soul  and  body  together,  after  fasting 
twenty-four  hours,  he  received  from  a  girl  at  a  wake  a 
handful  of  gray  peas,  which  he  declared  to  be  "  the 
most  delicious  repast  he  had  ever  made."  Indeed,  he 
now  felt  very  much  like  the  Prodigal  Son,  whose  mel 
ancholy  portrait  is  so  skillfully  drawn  by  the  hand  of 
the  Divine  Master.  He  was  but  paying  the  wages  of 
his  improvidence,  that  almost  national  failing  of  his 
countrymen.  A  place  was  obtained  for  him  as  a  pri 
vate  tutor,  but  not  relishing  the  confinement,  he  was  off 
again  with  his  savings  of  thirty  pounds,  which  were 
soon  spent,  leaving  him,  as  usual,  destitute.  He  had, 
indeed,  paid  at  Cork  for  his  passage  to  America,  but 
having  taken  an  excursion  into  the  country,  the  vessel 
sailed  without  him.  Thus  was  lost  his  visit  to  our 
country.  All  this  was  characteristic.  So  was  another 
incident.  A  poor  woman,  the  mother  of  nine  children, 
whose  husband  had  been  thrown  into  jail  for  rent,  met 
him  and  begged  for  relief.  Half  his  little  stock  was 
immediately  given  to  her.  His  hand  was  as  prodigal 
as  his  heart  wras  benevolent,  but  his  charity,  like  that 
of  the  sailor,  was  confused  and  indiscriminating,  an 
impulse  rather  than  a  principle,  and  of  little  substantial 
benefit  to  any  one. 

JSTot  Sheridan  himself,  though  more  profligate  in  his 
habits,  and  utterly  without  moral  principle,  could  ex 
ceed  him  in  some  points  of  irregularity.  He  had  never 
sunk  to  the  degradation  of  Savage,  another  particular 


210  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

friend  of  Johnson,  who  said  of  him,  "  On  a  bulk,  in  a 
cellar,  or  in  a  glass  house  among  thieves  and  beggars, 
was  to  be  found  the  author  of  the  Wanderer,  the  man 
whose  remarks  on  life  might  have  assisted  the  states 
man  ;  whose  ideas  of  virtue  might  have  enlightened 
the  moralist ;  whose  eloquence  might  have  influenced 
senates ;  and  whose  delicacy  might  have  polished 
courts."  And  Johnson  accompanied  him  in  his  frolics, 
and  sometimes  slept  with  him  in  the  glass-house,  when 
they  had  escaped  the  sponging-house.  "Well  might 
Savage  write  in  his  "  Wanderer :'! 

"  He  stooped  reluctant  to  low  arts  of  shame 
Which  then,  e'en  then,  he  scorned  and  blushed  to  name." 

The  literati  of  that  day  were  a  rare  set  of  jolly  fel 
lows,  into  whose  minds,  whatever  might  be  their  "ideas 
of  virtue,"  their  sense  of  "  delicacy,"  or  their  estimate 
of  the  value  of  literary  clubs,  the  idea  of  a  temperance 
club  never  seems  to  have  entered. 

Goldsmith  was  in  turn  destined  to  each  of  the  three 
professions.  He  had  too  much  conscience  to  be  a 
clergyman.  His  uncle  Contarine  then  sent  him  to  the 
Temple  to  study  law.  On  his  way  he  went  into  the 
company  of  gamblers,  and  lost  fifty  pounds.  He  re 
turned  in  distress  to  his  mother,  begged  forgiveness  all 
round,  was  pardoned  by  his  kind  uncle,  and  sent  to 
study  physic  at  Edinburgh.  He  amused  himself  much 
with  the  peculiarities  of  the  Scotch,  which  called  forth 
frequent  touches  of  the  humor  so  natural  to  him.  His 
fellow-students  he  amused  with  songs  and  stories.  He 
loved  the  applause  they  awakened,  and  the  roar  of  the 
convivial  table  at  his  jests  and  gibes,  quips  and  cranks, 


THE   GENIUS   OF   GOLDSMITH.  211 

was  music  to  his  ears,  as  it  was  to  those  of  Burns  and 
Sheridan.  Fatal  music !  It  could  better  have  been 
spared.  It  is  said  that  when  in  the  progress  of  his 
fame  he  attained  the  companionship  of  the  politest  cir 
cles,  he  could  never  entirely  divest  himself  of  that 
grimace  and  buffoonery  which  he  practiced  in  the  ge 
nial  and  habit-forming  period  of  his  youth.  At  Edin 
burgh  he  studied  by  fits,  dissipated  when  he  did  not 
study,  injured  his  health,  drained  his  pockets,  dam 
aged  his  mind,  and  did  violence  to  his  conscience.  He 
concludes  a  random  letter  to  a  friend  thus  :  "  Fortune 
has  given  you  circumstances,  and  nature  a  person,  to 
look  charming  in  the  eyes  of  the  fair.  Nor  do  I  envy 
my  dear  Bob  such  blessings,  while  I  may  sit  down  and 
laugh  at  the  world,  and  at  myself,  the  most  ridiculous 
object  in  it." 

Having  gone  through  the  course  at  Edinburgh,  "  after 
a  fashion,"  he  was  about  to  leave  for  Ley  den,  to  "  com 
plete"  his  studies,  when  he  was  arrested  for  debt,  con 
tracted  as  surety  for  a  fellow-student.  Two  kind  friends 
interposed  and  released  him,  one  of  whom  was  Dr. 
Sleigh,  afterward  emphatically  his  friend.  He  went 
to  Leyden ;  caricatured  the  Dutch  with  genuine  Irish 
glee,  played  deep,  won  pockets  full  of  money,  lost  all, 
as  usual,  and  having  misspent  a  year  at  Leyden,  com 
menced  traveling  wi.th  one  clean  shirt  and  an  empty 
pocket.  He  resolved  to  make  the  tour  of  Europe,  and 
for  resources  to  "  trust  Providence,"  which  he  had  so 
often  tempted.  He  traveled  through  Flanders,  France, 
Germany,  and  Switzerland,  stopping  at  monasteries, 
and  frequently  at  nightfall  serenading  the  inmates  of 
the  peasant  cottages  in  his  best  musical  style,  thus  ex- 


212  GLEANINGS   AND   GEOUPINGS. 

changing  his  music  for  their  hospitality,  and  in  general 
demeaning  himself  much  as  a  member  of  the  Order  of 
Mendicants.  The  romantic  scenery  of  Switzerland  evi 
dently  kindled  up  his  imagination,  for  in  his  sweet  poem 
of  the  "  Traveler"  may  be  seen  the  traces  of  those  vivid 
impressions  made  upon  it  by  mountain,  vale,  flood,  and 
forest,  to  say  nothing  of  the  living,  moving  pictures  in 
the  scene,  the  bold  peasantry,  their  country's  pride : 

"  Where  the  bleak  Swiss  their  stormy  mansion  tread, 
And  force  a  churlish  soil  for  scanty  bread. 

***** 
So  the  loud  torrent  and  the  whirlwind's  roar 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more." 

France,  too,  claimed  the  attention  of  the  poet,  as  well 
as  of  the  traveler : 

"  Gay,  sprightly  land  of  mirth  and  social  ease, 
Pleased  with  thyself,  whom  all  the  world  can  please.' 

He  boasts  of  having  often  led  the  "  sportive  choir"  on 
the  banks  of  one  of  their  favorite  rivers  : 

"  Where  shading  elms  along  the  margin  grew, 
And  freshened  from  the  wave  the  zephyr  flew." 

And  while  he  touches  his  French  picture  with  some 
soft,  some  brilliant  colors,  he  does  not  omit  the  shad 
ing  of  pride,  pomp,  vanity,  ostentation,  and  "  avarice 
of  praise,"  which  he  considers  the  besetting  sins  of 
her  who  has  since  delighted  to  call  herself  Le  Grand 
Nation. 

The  poet  bestows,  too,  a  page  on  Holland : 

"  Industrious  habits  in  each  bosom  reign, 
And  industry  begets  a  love  of  gain." 


THE  GENIUS  OF  GOLDSMITH.  213 

He  accuses  the  Hollanders,  however,  of  craft  and  fraud, 
and  of  bartering  liberty  itself.  In  fine,  as  if  some 
grudge  rankled  in  his  mind,  soiling  the  pure  stream  of 
his  fancy,  he  denounces  Holland  as  "  a  land  of  tyrants 
and  a  den  of  slaves,"  who  can  be  purchased  any  time 
for  gold.  Perhaps  the  specter  of  a  government  officer 
haunted  the  imagination  of  the  poet,  who,  of  course, 
never  relished  an  arrest  for  debt. 

ITALY,  lovely,  smiling  Italy,  acts  like  a  charm  on  his 
impulsive  faculties ;  breathing  her  own  soft  inspirations 
into  his  congenial  soul : 

"  Whatever  sVeets  salute  the  northern  sky, 
"With  vernal  leaves  that  blossom  but  to  die ; 
These  here  disporting,  own  the  kindred  soil, 
Nor  ask  luxuriance  from  the  planter's  toil ; 
While  seaborn  gales  their  gelid  wings  expand, 
To  winnow  fragrance  round  the  smiling  land." 

His  descriptions  of  Italy  are  indeed  more  vigorous 
and  picturesque  than  those  of  Addison ;  but  it  remained 
for  Byron  and  Rogers  to  give  full  breadth,  tone,  and 
coloring  to  the  splendid  picture.  Byron  walks  through 
her  majestic  ruins  with  the  gait  of  an  emperor,  his 
proud  form  wrapped  in  the  imperial  purple,  and  his 
hand  bearing  the  scepter  of  power  over  all  beneath  and 
around.  Or  he  seems  like  some  mighty  necromancer, 
before  whom,  as  he  utters  his  mysterious  words,  the 
shades  of  departed  heroes  and  statesmen  rise  in  solemn 
assemblage,  to  hear  their  sentence  pronounced  in  a  voice 
which  echoes  the  judgment  of  posterity.  And  then, 
when  he  apostrophizes  the  sepulchered  mistress  of  the 
world  herself,  we  seem  to  hear  the  sigh  of  the  "  lone 


214  GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

. 

mother  of  dead  empires  ;"  to  behold  the  frigid  features 

of  the  "  childless  and  crownless  Niobe  of  nations  :" 

. 

"  An  empty  urn  "within  her  withered  hands, 
Whose  treasured  dust  was  scattered  long  ago." 

It  has  been  said  by  the  most  eminent  and  elegant 
critic  of  modern  times,  that  "  our  poets  delight,  in  gen 
eral,  in  a  full  assemblage  of  persons,  or  ideas,  or  im 
ages,  and  in  a  rich  variety  of  effect.  Byron  alone  seems 
to  be  satisfied  with  singleness,  simplicity,  and  unity. 
His  creations,  whether  of  beauty  or  strength,  are  all 
single  creations.  He  requires  no  grouping  to  give  effect 
to  his  favorites,  or  to  tell  his  story. «  His  heroines  are 
solitary  symbols  of  loveliness.  His  heroes  stand  alone 
upon  marble  pedestals,  displaying  the  naked  power 
of  passion,  or  the  wrapped-up  and  reposing  energy  of 
grief."* 

Goldsmith  was  a  stranger  to  the  dark,  the  impas 
sioned,  and  the  terrible.  The  delight  of  his  genius  was 
in  gentler  and  kindlier  emotions.  At  the  same  time 
there  is  strong  and  sterling  philosophy  in  his  poetry, 
indicating  that  he  not  only  composed  as  a  poet,  but  felt 
as  a  man,  and  reasoned  as  a  member  of  civil  society. 
In  the  conclusion  of  his  "  Traveller"  he  gives  us  what 
may  be  regarded  as  the  concluding  reflection  on  his 
travels : 

"  In  every  government,  though  terrors  reign, 
Though  tyrant  kings  or  tyrant  laws  restrain, 
How  small  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure : 
Still  to  ourselves  in  every  place  consigned, 
Oar  own  felicity  we  make  or  find." 

*  Jeffrey 


THE   GENIUS   OF   GOLDSMITH.  215 

Goldsmith  returned  to  England  in  poverty  and  dis 
tress.  His  generous  uncle  was  dead,  and  lie  must  now 
rely  entirely  on  himself,  who  had  never  made  himself 
worthy  of  self-reliance.  Still,  his  better  genius,  unde- 
spairing,  whispered  hope.  That  was  in  him  which 
must  come  out.  He  obtained  the  place  of  usher  in  a 
school,  accepting  it  with  reluctance,  and  soon  quitting 
it  with  alacrity.  He  then  applied  to  various  apothe 
caries  in  London  to  be  employed  as  a  journeyman ;  but 
his  threadbare  coat,  his  uncouth  figure  and  Irish  brogue, 
interposed  insurmountable  barriers  to  his  success.  At 
length  a  chemist  pitied  and  took  him  into  his  labora 
tory.  There  Dr.  Sleigh,  a  fellow-student  at  Edinburgh, 
found  him,  and  raised  him  up.  He  went  into  the  prac 
tice  of  physic,  and  obtained  plenty  of  patients,  but  scan 
ty  fees. 

ISTow  (1757)  commenced  his  serious  literary  exertions, 
which  were  auxiliary  to  his  professional,  though,  as  yet, 
he  might  be  said  to  belong  to  the  "  ragged  school"  of 
medicine,  as  well  as  of  literature.  To  a  friend  in  Ire 
land  he  writes  :  "  You  may  easily  imagine  what  diffi 
culties  I  had  to  encounter — left,  as  I  was,  without  friends, 
recommendations,  money,  or  impudence ;  and  that  in  a 
country  where  being  born  an  Irishman  was  sufficient  to 
keep  me  unemployed.  Many,  in  such  circumstances, 
would  have  had  recourse  to  the  friar's  cord  or  the  sui 
cide's  halter.  But,  with  all  my  follies,  I  had  principle 
to  resist  the  one,  and  resolution  to  combat  the  other." 
In  short,  he  declares  that,  "  by  a  very  little  practice  as 
a  physician,  and  a  very  little  reputation  as  a  poet,"  he 
made  a  shift  to  live.  It  was,  however,  more  existing 
than  living,  and  he  thus  pathetically  writes  to  his  rev- 


216  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

erend  brother  in  Westmeath,  how  much  "  eight  years 
of  disappointment,  anguish,  and  study,  had  worn  him 
down :"  "  Imagine  to  yourself  a  pale,  melancholy  visage, 
with  two  great  wrinkles  between  the  eyebrows,  with  an 
eye  disgustingly  severe,  and  a  big  wig.  *  **  *  I 
have  thought  myself  into  a  settled  melancholy,  and  an 
utter  disgust  of  all  that  life  brings  with  it." 

Who  would  infer  it  from  his  cheerful  poetry  and  ge 
nial  prose  ?  His  melancholy  was  rather  a  thing  of 
emergent  circumstances,  than  a  tissue  interwoven  with 
his  constitution,  like  that  of  Cowper.  It  was  rather  the 
passing  cloud  over  a  naturally  serene  sky  than  the  set 
tled  gloom  of  the  livelong  day.  Will  it  be  believed 
that  he  was  under  arrest  when  he  wrote  that  mas 
ter-piece  of  gentle  philosophy,  the  "Vicar  of  Wake- 
field?" 

His  friend  Johnson,  pitying  his  necessities,  obtained 
the  manuscript,  and  sold  it  for  him  to  the  bookseller, 
dewberry,  for  sixty  pounds,  and  thus  procured  his  re 
lease.  But  ISTewberry  did  not  dare  to  publish  it  until 
the  star  of  his  genius  and  fame  had  begun  to  ascend 
to  such  a  height  above  the  literary  horizon  as  to  attract 
universal  admiration,  and  especially  to  fix  the  gaze  of 
those  who  were  capable  of  appreciating  its  superior 
v.  beauty.  The  manuscript  of  the  Yicar  of  Wakefield  lay 
on  the  shelf  for  two  years,  until  his  poem,  the  "  Travel 
ler,"  so  short  and  so  sweet — a  perfect  gem  of  elaborate 
beauty — opened  the  way  for  its  introduction  to  the 
world.  This  was  in  1765. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  has  observed,  that  "  the  admirable 
ease  and  grace  of  the  narrative,  as  well  as  the  pleasing 
truth  with  which  the  principal  characters  are  designed, 


THE    GENIUS    OF   GOLDSMITH. 


make  the  '  Yicar  of  Wakefield'  one  of  the  most  deli 
cious  morsels  of  fictitious  composition  on  which  the  hu 
man  mind  was  ever  employed.  *  *  *  The  wreath 
of  Goldsmith  is  unsullied  :  he  wrote  to  exalt  virtue  and 
to  expose  vice  ;  and  he  accomplished  his  task  in  a  man 
ner  which  raises  him  to  the  highest  rank  among  British 
authors.  *  *  *  His  picture  is  sketched,  indeed, 
from  common  life,  and  is  a  strong  contrast  to  those  ex 
aggerated  and  extraordinary  characters  and  incidents 
which  are  the  resource  of  those  authors  who  make  it 
their  business  to  elevate  and  surprise  ;"  and  it  may  be 
added,  to  distort  nature,  and  distress  humanity  ;  to  cor 
rupt  the  fountains  of  truth,  and  to  derange  the  healthy 
functions  of  the  soul,  by  inflaming  its  passions,  and 
poisoning  the  pure  channels  of  human  emotion. 

Goldsmith  himself,  in  a  letter  to  his  brother  on  the 
education  of  his  son,  observes  :  "  Above  all  things,  let 
him  never  touch  a  romance  or  a  novel.  These  paint 
beauty  in  colors  more  charming  than  nature  ;  and  de 
scribe  happiness  that  man  never  tastes.  How  delusive, 
how  destructive,  are  these  pictures  of  consummate  bliss  ! 
They  teach  the  youthful  mind  to  sigh  after  beauty  and 
happiness  which  never  existed  ;  to  despise  the  little 
good  which  fortune  has  mixed  in  our  cup,  by  expecting 
more  than  she  ever  gave  ;  and  in  general,  take  the  word 
of  a  man  who  has  seen  the  world,  and  has  studied  hu 
man  nature  more  by  experience  than  precept  —  take  my 
word  for  it,  I  say,  that  books  teach  us  very  little  of  the 
world." 

The  literary  success  of  our  author  soon  brought  him 
into  the  company  of  the  choice  spirits  of  that  elegant 
age  —  Johnson,  Burke,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Garrick  — 

10 


218  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

in  whom  consecutively  we  recognize  the  first  of  critics, 
the  first  of  orators,  the  first  of  painters,  and  the  first  of 
actors ;  these,  and  others  of  kindred,  if  not  coequal 
eminence,  constituted  a  literary  club,  of  which  Gold 
smith  was  no  mean  member,  as  was  proved  by  his  poem 
of  "  Retaliation."  "What  symposiums  they  enjoyed  ! 
what  attrition  of  mind  with  mind  was  there  witnessed ! 
what  conflicts  of  masculine  intellects  !  what  corusca 
tions  of  genius,  wit,  satire,  and  imagination  irradiated 
that  circle  of  literary  bon-vivans!  "What  an  immortal 
line  would  old  Horace  have  penned,  had  he  lived  after 
them,  and  been  permitted  to  look  in  upon  them  ! 

In  the  department  of  comedy,  Goldsmith  was  suc 
cessful.  He  was  himself,  indeed,  at  times,  quite  the 
impersonation  of  comedy.  There  was  a  humorous  twist 
in  his  brain  which  misfortune  itself,  and  her  compan 
ion  melancholy,  could  never  eradicate.  In  some  minds 
it  would  have  turned  to  a  moral  abscess,  diseasing  their 
entire  constitution.  In  him  it  was  really  a  vital,  happy 
influence,  a  secret  agent,  disinfecting  melancholy,  and 
scattering  those  murky  vapors  so  prone  to  gather  round 
and  obstruct  the  sunlight  of  genius.  Nay,  his  genius 
even  created  out  of  them  the  most  varied  and  enchant 
ing  forms  of  beauty.  Fantastic  they  were  at  times, 
but  exhilarating  to  the  vision.  Hence  his  comedy  of 
"  The  Good-natured  Man"  is  in  many  points  a  re 
flected  image  of  himself  in  certain  passages  of  his  va 
ried  life.  In  some  of  his  moods  he  was  perfectly  Sheri- 
danic. 

His  best  comedy  is  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer."  It 
was  received  with  shouts  of  applause,  intermingled  with 
an  occasional  hiss  from  the  tongue  of  envy — an  addi- 


THE    GENIUS   OF    GOLDSMITH.  219 

tional  tribute  to  its  excellence.  Johnson  gravely  de 
clared,  ex  cathedra,  that  "  no  comedy  had  for  many 
years  so  exhilarated  an  audience."  The  experience  of 
the  author  here,  too,  contributed  to  the  verisimilitude  of 
his  composition.  His  life  was  a  series  of  serio-comic 
passages.  His  death  occurred  in  1774,  at  the  early  age 
of  forty-five,  interrupting  his  further  literary  plans,  or 
rather  intentions,  for  there  was  little  of  plan  or  system 
in  his  desultory  mind.  His  life,  like  his  works,  might 
be  said  to  be  miscellaneous.  Single  productions,  how 
ever,  there  were,  like  the  "  Yicar  of  Wakefield,"  "  The 
Traveller,"  and  the  "  Deserted  Village,"  each  of  which 
presented  a  complete  and  beautiful  picture,  the  colors 
of  which  are  fresh  and  glowing  to  this  hour.  In  the 
"Hermit"  we  discern  an  elegance  of  imagination,  a 
tenderness  of  sentiment,  and  a  sweetness  of  versification, 
which  justify  its  universal  popularity.  Johnson  pro 
nounced  him  "  a  man  of  such  variety  of  powers  and 
such  felicity  of  performance,  that  he  always  seemed  to 
do  best  that  which  he  was  doing  ;  a  man  who  had  the 
art  of  being  minute  without  tediousness,  and  general 
without  confusion ;  whose  language  was  copious  with 
out  exuberance,  exact  without  constraint,  and  easy  with 
out  weakness."  The  great  critic  said  that  he  even  did 
a  foolish  thing  well.  His  poetic  lines  were  revised  and 
corrected  again  and  again.  His  prose  was  seldom  al 
tered.  He  had  alternate  fits  of  incessant  and  exhaust 
ing  literary  labor,  and  of  equally  exhausting  indulgence, 
both  of  which,  joined  to  the  negleclPof  wholesome  exer 
cise,  unsettled  the  foundations  of  his  health,  and  con 
ducted  him  to  a  premature  dissolution.  Let  his  exam 
ple  serve  as  a  warning  to  the  living  scholar. 


220  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

His  dust  reposes  in  "Westminster  Abbey,  in  the 
"  Poet's  Corner,"  near  that  of  Gray,  and  his  monument 
is  adorned  with  a  Latin  inscription  by  his  friend  John- 
eon,  who  loved  him  in  life,  and  lamented  him  in  death. 


XXVIII, 
Comus  of  ittilton. 

GENIUS,  in  whatever  age  of  the  world  it  has  ap 
peared,  has  commanded  the  respect  and  homage  of 
mankind.  MIND,  in  every  stage  of  development,  and 
in  every  altitude  of  attainment,  must  be  an  object  of 
profound  interest  to  mind.  AVhen,  therefore,  a  mind 
of  so  high  an  order  as  that  of  JOHN  MILTON  appears 
before  men,  the  fact  constitutes  an  era  in  the  history 
of  intellect  and  imagination,  and  all  the  productions  of 
such  a  mind  are  scanned  and  studied  with  a  diligence 
proportioned  to  the  dignity  and  fame  of  the  author. 
The  principal  monument  or  statue  in  honor  of  the 
departed  of  course  attracts  the  most  profound  con 
templation,  but  around  it  the  genius  of  the  artist 
may  have  wrought  some  beautiful  adjunct  figures, 
worthy  of  their  share  of  admiration.  Thus,  while  the 
Paradise  Lost  stands  in  superior  beauty  and  grandeur, 
a  fitting  monument  of  the  transcendent  mind  of  the 
author,  there  are  minor  productions  of  the  same  im 
agination,  which  are  finely  conceived,  and  exquisitely 
wrought.  Among  these  may  be  mentioned  COMUS,  a 


THE   COMUS   OF   MILTON.  221 

"  Mask,"  or  Dialogue  composed  in  dramatic  form,  with, 
no  particular  attention  to  rules  or  probabilities,  and 
therefore  affording  the  imagination  of  the  poet  con 
siderable  freedom  in  the  exercise  of  its  pencil.  This 
was  one  of  the  earliest  productions  of  the  muse  of 
Milton,  one  in  the  progress  of  which  he  tried  the 
strength  of  those  pinions,  which  were  destined  to 
bear  him  beyond  this  "  visible  diurnal  sphere,"  into 
those  spiritual  and  sublime  regions,  till  then  unknown 
to  the  adventurous  flight  of  the  poet.  Johnson,  in  his 
Lives  of  the  Poets,  declares  this  to  be  "  the  greatest  of 
his  juvenile  performances,  in  which  may  very  plainly 
be  discovered  the  dawn  or  twilight  of  Paradise  Lost." 
The  characters  are  six  only  in  number,  the  Attendant 
Spirit,  Comus  and  his  crew,  a  Virgin  Lady,  her  two 
brothers,  and  Sabrina,  a  nymph.  The  scene  is  a  wild- 
wood,  and  the  poem  opens  with  a  long  soliloquy  from 
the  attendant  spirit,  followed  by  the  entrance  of  the 
wizard  Comus,  and  the  strange,  unearthly  beings  of 
monstrous  forms,  now  encountered  by  the  lady,  who 
has  lost  her  way  in  the  woods,  and  who  is  subjected 
to  the  severe  trial  of  their  foul  incantations.  The 
two  brothers  set  forth  in  pursuit  of  their  lost  sister, 
and  succeed  in  finding  her,  happy  that  she  has  sur 
vived,  unharmed,  all  the  arts  of  the  wicked  and  the 
seductive. 

Sabrina,  the  "  goddess  of  the  silver  lake,"  is  in 
voked,  and  rises  out  of  the  "  cool,  translucent  wave," 
chiefly  to  confer  a  crowning  grace  upon  the  scene, 
and  afford  further  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  the 
imaginative  powers  of  the  poet.  There  can  be  said 
to  be  little  plan,  or  intention  of  plan  or  plot  about 


222  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

the  piece.  But  whatever  may  be  wanting  in  beauty 
or  ingenuity  of  design,  is  amply  compensated  by  the 
sterling  value  of  the  thoughts,  the  exquisite  character 
of  the  imagery,  the  richness  of  the  coloring,  and  the 
purity  of  the  tone  of  sentiment.  Many  a  "  household 
word"  is  here  recognized.  Many  a  stem,  from  which 
we  plucked  flowers  for  our  herbarium,  grew  here. 
Beautiful  gems,  that  have  been  set  here  and  there  in 
the  bosom  of  congenial  prose,  or,  like  current  coin, 
from  hand  to  hand,  that  have  circulated  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  in  elegant  society,  were  formed  in  this  mine. 
Those  "thousand  liveried  angels"  that  lackey  a  pure 
and  gentle  spirit ;  the  "  airy  tongues,  that  syllable 
men's  names ;"  that  "  charming,  divine  philosophy," 
which  is  "  musical  as  Apollo's  lute ;"  the  vision  of 
those  serene  and  celestial  regions,  that  glow  "  above 
the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot,  which  men  call 
earth ;"  the  view  of  a  sable  cloud,  turning  its  "  silver 
lining  on  the  night" — these,  and  many  kindred  images 
and  sentiments  of  beauty,  have  their  original  expres 
sion  in  the  Comus,  as  others  do  in  other  works  of 
the  immortal  poet,  who  sought  not  merely  to  weave 
splendid  visions  of  the  imagination,  but  to  embalm 
sublime  truths  for  the  nourishment  of  humanity  in  all 
ages,  and  to  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man. 

Here,  too,  we  find  some  of  those  sententious  generics 
of  history  or  geography,  of  fable  or  fancy;  those  classic 
touches  ;  those  suggestive  single  words,  which  instantly 
bring  up  before  the  mind  a  train  of  ideas,  or  a  treasure 
of  knowledge  connected  with  the  past. 

These  habits  of  thought  and  composition  are  fully 
developed  in  Paradise  Lost.  "The  poetry  of  Milton," 


THE   COMUS   OF   MILTON.  223 

says  an  eminent  critic,  "  differs  from  that  of  Dante, 
as  the  hieroglyphics  of  Egypt  differ  from  the  picture- 
writing  of  Mexico.  The  images  which  Dante  employs 
speak  for  themselves  ;  they  stand  simply  for  what  they 
are.  Those  of  Milton  have  a  signification  which  is 
often  discernible  only  to  the  initiated.  Their  value 
depends  less  on  what  they  directly  represent,  than  on 
what  they  remotely  suggest."  Numerous  instances  of 
this  might  be  adduced.  It  has  been  called  electrify 
ing  the  mind  through  a  conductor.  The  mind  of  the 
reader  must  in  some  good  measure  co-operate  with  that 
of  the  author.  We  must  be  ready  to  fill  up  the  outline 
which  he  sketches ;  to  respond  with  our  melody  to  the 
key-note  which  he  strides.  There  must  be  some  music 
in  the  soul  that  is  to  appreciate  the  genius  of  Milton. 
Addison  never  earned  a  purer  glory,  than  when  he 
set  forth  his  merits  as  by  a  charmed  pen.  Those 
words  of  enchantment — those  forms  of  beauty  created 
by  the  imagination  of  the  poet,  deeply  impressed  a 
congenial  mind. 

The  Comus  is  constructed  on  the  plan  of  the  Italian 
masque,  and  belongs  to  that  class  of  poems  which  do 
not  depend  for  their  interest  on  any  complication  of 
plot  or  conflicts  of  intense  passion,  on  dramatic  unities 
or  strange  developments,  startling  scenes  and  horrible 
catastrophes.  The  poem  rather  claims  and  commands 
our  admiration  for  the  Doric  simplicity  of  its  structure, 
than  for  any  gay  and  glittering  forms  of  poetic  archi 
tecture.  Though  dramatic  in  its  plan,  the  Mask — 
while  it  has  the  simplest  form  of  the  drama — is  es 
sentially  lyric,  especially  in  the  carol  of  the  Water 
Nymph  and  the  song  of  the  attendant  spirit,  which 


224  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS, 

constitutes  a  kind  of  delicious  epilogue  to  the  piece, 
and  concludes  with  a  beautiful  moral  lesson : 

"  Mortals,  that  would  follow  me, 
Love  Virtue ;  she  alone  is  free : 
She  can  teach  you  how  to  climb 
Higher  than  the  sphery  chime ; 
Or  if  Virtue  feeble  were, 
Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  her." 

Indeed,  the  whole  design  and  execution  of  the  poem 
is  evidential  of  that  purity  of  mind,  that  chasteness 
of  the  imagination,  so  nobly  distinguishing  all  the 
productions  of  this  first  of  poets. 

There  is  no  reason  why  Shakspeare  should  not  have 
maintained  the  same  elevated  tone  of  morality  and 
purity  in  his  immortal  works,  but  that  he  was  des 
titute  of  those  religious  principles  which  purify  the 
heart,  and,  indeed,  clarify  all  the  powers  of  the  mind. 
The  polluting  habits  of  his  early  life,  so  closely  con 
nected  with  the  stage,  when  it  was  in  its  deepest 
debasement,  contributed  to  this  malformation  of  his 
moral  character.  Let  it  not  be  said  it  was  rather  the 
"fault  of  the  age"  than  of  the  individual.  Milton 
was  of  that  age.  There  was  little  more  than  a  gen 
eration  between  them.  But  the  poet  was  not  ensnared 
either  with  the  conspicuous  examples  of  vice  before 
him  or  around  him.  In  the  midst  of  a  crooked  and 
perverse  generation,  he  shone  as  a  light  of  superior 
brilliancy,  entering  upon  the  responsibilities  and  trials 
of  life  with  a  heart  full  of  love  for  freedom,  and  of 
hatred  of  tyrants,  just  at  that  illustrious  period  of  the 
world  when  the  genius  of  Liberty  had  set  her  foot  on 
these  North  American  shores. 


THE    COMUS    OF   MILTON. 


All  republicans  have  a  special  interest  in  studying 
the  genius  and  character  of  Milton.  He  took  no  pleas 
ure,  as  did  the  great  dramatic  poet,  in  exalting  the  pre 
rogatives,  or  setting  forth  the  splendors  of  royalty. 
For  this  he  was  calumniated  by  his  enemies,  and 
even  Johnson,  the  inveterate  old  tory,  joins  in  the 
censure  of  the  politician  and  civilian,  while  he  praises 
the  poet  in  such  language  as  this  :  "  He  seems  to  have 
been  well  acquainted  with  his  own  genius,  and  to 
know  what  it  wTas  that  nature  had  bestowed  upon 
him,  more  bountifully  than  upon  others ;  the  power 
of  displaying  the  vast,  illuminating  the  splendid,  en 
forcing  the  awful,  darkening  the  gloomy,  and  aggra 
vating  the  dreadful."  He  could  not  stoop  to  trifle 
among  kings  and  queens,  or  attempt  to  make  them 
conspicuous  by  his  eulogies  or  representations.  He 
rose  to  the  sublimities  of  supernal  worlds.  "He  sent 
his  faculties  out  upon  discovery,  into  worlds  where 
only  imagination  can  travel,  and  delighted  to  form 
new  modes  of  existence,  and  furnish  sentiment  and 
action  to  superior  beings,  to  trace  the  councils  of  hell, 
or  accompany  the  choirs  of  heaven." 

His  communion  with  the  pure,  the  spiritual,  the 
invisible,  strengthened  the  principles  of  conduct  he 
had  adopted  in  his  anticipation  of  the  judgment  of 
posterity,  and  especially  in  his  consciousness  of  being 
"  in  his  great  Taskmaster's  eye." 

In  Comus,  his  youthful  imagination  luxuriates  amid 
the  freshness  of  its  own  beautiful  creations,  amid  the 
wealth  which  was  destined  to  enrich  the  world.  Upon 
the  ground  of  a  pure  moral  sentiment  the  flowers  of 
poesy  are  distributed  in  the  most  free  and  graceful 

10* 


226  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

manner.  There  is  no  pandering  to  the  baser  passions 
of  the  human  heart ;  no  prostitution  of  the  charms  of 
his  muse  to  the  purposes  of  a  secret,  sinful  gratification 
on  the  part  of  his  readers ;  no  seductive  attempt  to 
"  impair  the  strength  of  better  thoughts,"  or  to  weaken 
the  sanctions  of  that  immutable  law,  which  binds  to 
gether  virtue  and  happiness,  vice  and  misery.  His 
amaranthine  wreath  may  be  wet  with  the  "dew  of 
heaven,"  such  as  descended  on  his  own  Paradise,  but 
is  never  stained  with  tears  such  as  innocence  weeps, 
when  corrupted  by  guilt.  "His  diadem  of  beauty"  is 
set  with  gems  of  the  purest  water,  and  most  spark 
ling  colors.  The  "Lady,"  who  is  wandering  in  the 
recesses  of  the  forest,  apprehensive,  perhaps,  of  being 
assailed  by  prowling  foes,  appeals  in  fervent  language : 

"  Oh  welcome,  pure-eyed  Faith ;  white-handed  Hope, 
Thou  hovering  angel,  girt  with  golden  wings ! 
And  thou  unblemished  form  of  Chastity ! 
I  see  ye  visibly" 

The  high  lesson  breathed  through  many  a  glowing 
line  of  this  exquisite  poem  is  the  dignity  of  virtue, 
the  conservative  power  of  innocence,  the  majesty  of 
woman,  even  in  her  weakness,  that  weakness  itself 
becoming  strength,  when  blended  with  a  purity  be 
fore  which  the  eye  of  profligacy  quails  with  very 
shame  at  the  suggestions  of  a  guilty  heart.  In  the 
picture  of  Coinus,  the  fabled  son  of  Bacchus  and  Circe, 
and  the  assailant  of  the  virtuous  lady,  drawn  by  the 
attendant  spirit,  there  is  a  powerful  argument  for  tem 
perance,  a  virtue  so  warmly  applauded  and  so  little 
practiced  among  men.  Comus, 


THE   COMUS    OF   MILTON.  227 

— "  To  every  thirsty  •wanderer 

By  sly  enticement  gives  his  baneful  cup, 

With  many  murmurs  mixed,  whose  pleasing  poison 

The  visage  quite  transforms  of  him  that  drinks. 

And  the  inglorious  likeness  of  a  beast 

Fixes  instead,  unmolding  reason's  mintage 

Charactered  in  the  face." — 

The  imagination  of  Milton  delighted  to  portray  the 
moral  virtues,  often  grouping  them  in  fine  proportions 
and  expressive  relations.  They  appear  in  the  midst  of 
elegant  poetry,  gorgeous  imagery,  and  all  manner  of 
glowing  thoughts,  like  beautiful  forms  of  statuary  re 
vealing  themselves  amidst  the  luxuriant  vines  and  ver 
dant  foliage  of  a  summer  garden. 

The  scene  in  the  palace  between  the  Virgin  Lady 
and  Comus  affords  occasion  for  the  utterance  of  noble 
sentiments  in  language  worthy  of  them.  She  is  sup 
posed  to  sit  in  the  enchanted  chair,  her  eye  resting 
upon  the  dainties  of  a  delicious  feast,  her  ear  greeted 
with  strains  of  the  softest  music — all  the  senses,  in  fine, 
addressed  in  the  most  tempting  manner,  when  the  En 
chanter  with  his  wand  appears  before  her,  and  proifers 
his  glass— the  true  "  Circean  cup,"  which,  being  tasted, 
first  intoxicates,  then  ruins.  It  is  the  intoxication  of 
pleasure  in  all  its  forms  and  fascinations.  This  may  be 
called  a  fable,  but  it  stands  for  truth  and  reality  too  sadly 
.  and  fatally  experienced  by  the  children  of  humanity. 

The  Enchanter  opens  his  assault:  "If  I  but  wave 
this  wand,  your  nerves  are  all  chained  up  in  alabas 
ter."  The  lady  nobly  replies  : 

'  Thou  canst  not  touch  the  freedom  of  my  mind 
With  all  thy  charms,  although  this  corporeal  rind 
Thou  hast  immanacled,  while  Heaven  sees  good." 


228  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

The  contest  proceeds,  and  it  is  one  between  Truth  and 
Falsehood,  Light  and  Darkness,  Principle  and  Profli 
gacy,  the  Powers  Supreme  and  the  Infernal  Crew. 
The  germ  of  one  portion  of  Paradise  Lost  is  here. 
Those  conflicts  between  mighty  opposing  Powers, 
which  constitute  so  much  of  the  sublime  interest  of 
that  great  EPIC,  are  here  typified  and  foreshadowed. 
Some  poets  would  have  invested  this  incantation  of 
virgin  purity  with  the  "  armor  of  tears,"  the  resistless 
eloquence  of  entreaty,  disarming  the  sturdiest  foe. 
But  no  such  tender,  melting  scenes  seem  to  have 
been  embraced  within  the  design  of  the  poet.  His 
heroine  belongs  to  a  severer  order  of  the  chaste  sis 
terhood.  There  is  a  sternness  in  her  purity,  before 
which  even  the  Enchanter  with  his  wand  is  compelled 
to  cower.  He  plies  her  with  his  enchantments,  presses 
her  with  arguments  worthy  of  the  father  of  lies,  with 
sophistry  becoming  the  most  subtle  and  accomplished 
deceiver,  with  flattery  that  would  turn  an  ordinary 
brain.  To  all  this  she  replies,  with  all  the  energy  of 
indignant  virtue,  "False  traitor!"  and  charges  home 
the  guilt  of  his  incantations,  spurning  the  offer  of  all 
his  delicacies  and  luxuries  : 

— "  None 

But  such  as  are  good  men  can  give  good  things, 
And  that  which  is  not  good,  is  not  delicious 
To  a  well-governed  and  wise  appetite."  « 

Comus  affects  to  despise  the  philosophy  that  is  taught 
from  the  cynic  tub  of  Diogenes,  and  ranges  over  all 
Nature  for  proof  that  men  were  intended  to  revel  on 
her  bounties,  to  "live  while  they  live;"  in  fact,  to  do 
what  those  Epicurean  philosophers  taught,  who  said, 


THE   COMUS   OF   MILTON. 


"  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die."  Nay, 
he  dares  to  asperse  the  purity,  and  insult  the  majesty 
of  Beauty  itself: 

"  Beauty  is  nature's  coin,  must  not  be  hoarded, 
But  must  be  current  ;  and  the  good  thereof 
Consists  in  mutual  and  partaken  bliss."  — 

Now  does  the  Lady  rebuke  him  with  all  the  true 
natural  authority  of  virtue  for  obtruding  his  false  rules 
"  pranked  in  reason's  garb,"  and  in  the  true  spirit  of 
Satan,  bolting  out  his  practical  heresies  with  a  fluency 
quite  beyond  the  capabilities  of  the  tongue  of  Yirtue. 
It  is  true  that  in  this  interview  there  appears  to  be, 
so  far  as  the  Yirgin  Lady  is  concerned,  a  singular 
union  of  the  romantic  and  the  sensible,  indeed  such 
a  preponderance  of  the  latter  as  would  have  been  quite 
inconsistent  with  the  style  and  spirit  of  the  drama, 
as  authenticated  by  the  masters  of  the  histrionic  art. 
Nevertheless,  so  great  a  genius  as  Milton  had  a  right 
to  choose  in  what  form  he  would  embody  —  through 
what  channel  he  would  pour  the  exalted  sentiments 
and  burning  thoughts  which  it  is  the  prerogative  of 
genius  to  supply.  If  it  pleased  him  to  set  before  us 
naked  creations  of  loveliness,  or  solitary  symbols  of 
vice  and  deformity,  rather  in  the  style  of  the  statuary 
than  of  the  painter  of  scenes,  then  let  us  be  thankful 
for  the  gift,  and  honor  the  memory  of  the  giver. 
Comus  is  rebuked  by  the  Lady  in  such  language  as 
this  : 

"  Nature 

Means  her  provision  only  to  the  good, 
That  live  according  to  her  sober  laws, 
And  holy  dictate  of  spare  temperance  : 


230  GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

If  every  just  man  that  now  pines  with  want, 
Had  but  a  moderate  and  beseeming  share 
Of  that  which  lewdly -pampered  luxury 
Now  heaps  upon  some  few  with  vast  excess, 
Nature's  full  blessings  would  be  well  dispensed 
In  unsuperfluous  even  proportion, 
And  she  no  whit  encumbered  with-  her  store." 

That  strain  continues  until  the  guilty  wizard  stands 
abashed,  like  Satan  before  the  immaculate  angel  of 
the  covenant,  feeling  how  awful  virtue  is.  Comus  con 
fesses  his  fears  of  self-condemnation.  He  felt  "her 
words  set  off  by  some  superior  power,"  and  in  spite 
of  his  professed  exemption  from  mortal  ills,  acknowl 
edges  "a  cold,  shuddering  dew  dips  me  all  o'er." 
Still  he  resolves  to  dissemble,  and  as  he  is  proceed 
ing  with  his  speech,  in  rush  the  brothers  of  the  lady 
to  the  rescue,  and  scatter  all  things  around  them. 

The  attendant  Spirit  again  appears  on  the  stage,  to 
exercise  her  guardian  offices,  and  speaks  at  length. 
All  the  speakers  are  imbued  with  classical  knowledge, 
and  abound  in  classical  allusions.  This  is  just  Mil- 
tonic.  They  are  learned  in  Latin  and  Greek.  And 
why  should  Milton  consult  the  verisimilitudes  of  the 
stage?  In  the  compass  of  thirteen  lines  of  a  song 
by  the  attendant  Spirit,  there  are  several  classical  or 
fabulous  names,  among  them  Neptune,  Nereus,  Triton, 
Glaucus,  Thetis,  Parthenope.  How  finely  does  he  inter 
weave  them  with  the  thread  of  his  song,  even,  by  his 
poetic  art,  imparting  to  them  a  portion  of  the  melody 
that  is  vocal  in  his  verse!  He  seems  capable  of  set 
ting  to  music  the  whole  catalogue  of  the  Pantheon,  the 
Stoa,  the  Academy,  and  the  Temple,  whose  sublime 
and  impressive  architecture  itself  suggests  an  analogy 


THE   COMUS   OF   MILTON.  231 

to  poetry  of  a  high  order.  Then  the  Nereids,  the  Dry 
ads,  the  Fauns  will  always  be  poetical  in  an  humbler 
sense,  so  long  as  the  woods  and  the  waters  shall  be 
grateful  to  the  senses  or  pleasing  to  the  imagination. 
Even  the  horrid  Satyrs  are  accepted  among  his  guests. 
This  poem  is  full  of  MUSIC,  reminding  us  as  well  of 
the  beautiful  bond — the  indissolubile  vinculum — that 
unites  the  sister  arts,  as  of  the  author's  -passion  for  the 
science  and  symphonies  of  sweet  sounds.  A  good 
recitation  of  his  Ode  on  the  Nativity  is  equal  to  a 
grand  overture  on  the  organ.  HE  was  an  EPIC  all 
over.  To  quote  from  this  very  Comus,  he  could 
originate  "  strains  that  might  create  a  soul  tinder  the 
ribs  of  death."  If  he  did  not  absolutely  invent  the 
poetic  epithet  "  rosy-bosomed  hours"  (it  being  de 
rived  from  the  Rododactylos  Eos,  "  rosy-fingered  Au 
rora"  of  Homer),  he  interwove  it  most  gracefully  in 
his  song,  as  he  did  all  thoughts,  images,  and  words 
which  he  deemed  worthy  of  adaptation  into  the  magic 
structure  of  his  works.  They  were  so  many  living, 
many-colored  stones  in  that  glorious  temple  of  poesy 
(be  it  reverently  spoken)  "not  made  with  hands," 
but  elaborated  and  elevated  to  its  towering  height 
by  those  marvelous  intellectual  powers  which  are  as 
much  the  gift  of  God  as  inspiration  itself,  and  far 
more  identified  with  the  MAN  than  inspiration  pos 
sibly  could  be.  Oh,  how  solemn  the  spectacle,  to 
contemplate  such  a  genius  with  his  eye  fixed,  like 
that  of  an  ancient  prophet,  in  a  vision  of  spiritual 
worlds,  peopled,  not  wi^h  the  ordinary  phantoms  of 
an  earthly  imagination,  but  with  beings  of  immortal 
mold  and  unmeasured  power ;  his  ear  open  to  catch 


232  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 


the  "  ninefold  harmony"  of  the  celestial  orders,  as  they 
sing  and  praise  the  glorious  Creator ;  his  march  above 
the  ordinary  walks  of  humanity ;  his  very  soul  taking 
wings,  and  like  the  eagle  soaring  "  with  no  middle  flight," 
but  passing  "  the  flaming  bounds  of  time  and  space," 
and  ascending  from  sphere  to  sphere  until  he  reaches 
the  throne  of  the  Eternal,  there  to  hold  high  commu 
nion  with  the  Invisible  God,  and  the  august  and  awful 
associations  that  surround  him,  whom  "no  eye  hath 
seen  nor  can  see,  to  whom  be  honor  and  power  ever 
lasting  !" 


XXIX, 

i£l)e  (Scums  of 

HISTORY,  Poetry,  the  Drama,  the  Fable,  all  have 
their  peculiar  points  of  interest,  and  as  fields  for  the 
employment  of  genius  have  ever  opened  with  promise 
to  the  diligent  hand  and  genial  heart. 

Poetry,  though  in  its  highest  style  invested  with  a 
kind  of  regal  dignity,  subduing  and  swaying  the  hearts 
of  men,  is  distinguished  for  its  versatility.  Beginning 
with  the  stately  epic,  that  is  employed  amid  such 
sublime  scenes,  and  is  conversant  with  the  most  exalted 
forms  of  character  and  destiny,  we  naturally  pass  to 
the  dramatic,  which  is  so  deeply  founded  in  the  nature 
of  man,  and  so  conversant  with  the  whole  circle  of 
human  passions ;  then  to  the  descriptive,  which  pre 
sents  a  wide  range  to  the  exercise  of  the  powers  of  genius. 

Next  conies  the  LYRIC,  so  instinct  with  life,  short, 


THE   GENIUS   OF  THOMSON.  233 

but  spirited,  especially  when  taking  the  form  of  the 
Ode,  as  that  of  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  or  Ye  Mariners  of 
England.  Contrasted  with  this  is  the  ELEGIAC,  with  its 
solemn  dignity  and  mournful  tones,  too  frequently, 
alas!  brought  into  requisition  in  this  world  of  tears 
and  sorrow,  where  the  distance  is  so  short  and  the  pil 
grimage  so  sad  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 

Nor  should  the  DIDACTIC  be  forgotten,  which,  through 
the  medium  of  the  beautiful,  aims  at  the  direct  promo 
tion  of  the  useful,  decking  Truth  with  the  flowers  of 
Fancy,  and  presenting  the  imagination  as  the  hand 
maid  of  Divine  philosophy.  Nor  should  even  the 
EPIGRAMMATIC  be  altogether  overlooked,  since  the  sharp 
and  condensed  sentiment  of  which  it  is  capable  may  in 
few  lines  convey  to  the  mind  more  meaning  than  is  oft 
en  in  other  forms  spread  out  on  a  page.  It  has  created, 
and  it  has  destroyed  a  reputation.  Of  all  these  forms 
there  are  subdivisions  and  shades,  such  as  will  natu 
rally  occur  to  a  studious  mind,  showing  that  all  poetry 
is  by  no  means  a  creation  of  the  imagination,  however 
much  that  beautiful  faculty  may  be  concerned  in  so 
delicate  and  complex  a  work.  There  is  much  copying 
and  combining,  as  well  as  creating,  to  be  done. 

JAMES  THOMSON  is  to  be  classed  among  the  descrip 
tive  poets ;  for,  although  he  attempted,  and  even  exe 
cuted  some  dramatic  pieces  (to  say  nothing  of  the  pat 
riotic),*  they  have  scarcely  survived  their  generation, 

*  Dr.  Johnson  says,  ex  cathedra :  "  Liberty,  when  it  first  appeared, 
I  tried  to  read,  and  soon  desisted.  I  have  never  tried  again,  and  there 
fore  will  not  hazard  either  praise  or  censure."  The  old  Tory  would  not 
expose  himself  to  the  temptation  of  praising  the  son  of  a  Presbyterian 
minister,  nor  even  dignify  him  with  a  censure. 


234:  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 

and  constitute  no  portion  of  the  corner-stone  of  his 
fame.  The  true  range  of  his  imagination  was  in  the 
open  field  of  Nature,  where  it  might  luxuriate  uncou- 
fined,  and  wander  untrammeled  with  the  artificial  pre 
scriptions  of  the  stage.  He  was  a  genuine  landscape 
painter,  distinguished  for  the  brilliancy  of  his  coloring, 
the  beautiful  proportion  of  his  scenes,  and  the  strength 
of  the  contrast  between  the  lights  and  the  shades. 
When  a  Scotchman  rises  into  a  poet,  he  makes  a  first- 
rate  one ;  his  productions  are  of  the  best  quality.  Thorn- 
son  was  born  in  the  shire  of  Roxburg,  Scotland,  in 
1700.  He  was  the  son  of  a  pious,  faithful  Presbyterian 
minister,  who  "  at  forty  pounds  a  year"  diligently  dis 
charged  his  pastoral  duties  at  Ednam,  leaving  behind 
him  at  death  a  name  and  a  memory  that  "  smelled 
sweet,  and  blossomed  in  the  dust."  It  was  a  legacy  to 
his  children  richer  than  thousands  of  silver  and  gold. 
For  his  father's  sake  many  befriended  him,  while  the 
conservative  power  of  his  religious  education  was  seen 
in  that  exemption  from  the  vices  and  extravagances  so 
common  to  the  poets  and  authors  of  the  last  century, 
and  so  freely  described  by  Johnson  and  others,  some 
times,  by  themselves.  To  be  born  in  Scotland  seems 
almost  like  giving  a  pledge  for  a  good  influence  on 
posterity.  It  was  of  him  that  Lyttleton  said  he  had 
written  "  no  line  which,  dying,  he  would  wish  to  blot." 
Nor  should  a  mother's  influence  be  forgotten.  Indeed, 
how  often  is  it  paramount !  Within  that  domestic  cir 
cle  was  he  led  to  that  great  fountain  of  truth,  poetry, 
morality,  and  religion,  the  BIBLE.  Like  Milton,  he 
drank  at  the  sacred  ftmnt,  and  hence  the  serious  spirit 
that  pervades  his  principal  work,  besides  those  occa- 


THE  GENIUS  OP  THOMSON.  235 

sional  sublime  nights  which  he  successfully  attempted. 
Indeed  his  Hymn  of  Praise,  supplementary  to  the  con 
clusion  of  the  Seasons,  partakes  largely  of  the  element 
of  the  sublime,  ranking  next  to  that  of  Milton,  and  to 
be  classified  with  such  as  Coleridge's  hymn,  Sunrise 
in  the  Yale  of  Chamouny.  The  mother  of  Thomson 
was  a  woman  of  superior  endowments,  and  possessed 
of  an  ardent  and  lively  imagination  to  such  a  degree 
as  to  demonstrate  the  spirit  of  poetry  as  existent  within 
herself.  Of  the  secret,  mysterious  influence  of  the  ma 
ternal  constitution  on  the  maternal  offspring,  as  being 
quite  superior  to  that  of  the  paternal,  anthropologists 
have  said  not  a  little.  The  mother  of  Lord  Bacon  was 
skilled  in  languages  and  learning.  Mrs.  Hume,  whose 
son  was  the  historian,  delighted  in  literature  and  edu 
cation.  Mrs.  Frances  Sheridan  was  a  genius,  fascinat 
ing  with  her  brilliancy  the  father  of  Richard  Brinsley, 
and  even  extorting  the  praises  of  the  despot  Johnson. 
Schiller's  mother  was  an  enthusiast  amid  the  scenes  of 
nature,  and  a  votary  of  music  and  poetry.  How  could 
she,  or  the  mother  of  Goethe  help  kindling  the  inex 
tinguishable  fire  in  the  bosoms  of  their  sons  ?  "  From 
my  mother,"  said  Goethe,  "  I  derive  the  faculty  of  rep 
resenting  all  that  the  imagination  can  conceive  with 
all  energy  and  vivacity."  Erskine's  mother,  a  woman 
of  superior  talent,  led  her  son  to  the  bar.  Boerhaave's 
was  fond  of  the  study  of  medicine,  and  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  mother  studied  and  wrote  poetry ! 

Even  this  slight  induction  of  particulars  might  go 
far  to  the  construction  of  an  argument  for  the  transmis 
sion  of  genius  from  mother  to  son,  and  even  of  a  pecu 
liar  type  of  genius,  as  was  eminently  the  fact  in  the 


236  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

case  of  Napoleon..  The  Bible  expressly  says — "  As  is 
the  mother,  so  is  her  daughter,"  a  fortiori  so  must 
be  the  son,  the  object  of  her  intense  arid  devoted 
affection  during  the  early  and  most  impressible  years 
of  life. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  last  century,  the  study  of 
poetry  had  become  general  in  Scotland :  the  best  Eng 
lish  authors  being  read,  and  imitations  attempted.  It 
was  the  glowing  age  of  Addison,  who,  among  many 
excellent  services  rendered,  unveiled  to  the  public  eye 
the  immortal  beauties  of  Milton,  so  long  hidden  by  the 
stupidity,  the  sensuality,  the  prejudices,  or  the  passions 
of  the  generation  near  him. 

Thomson  was  no  stranger  to  those  strains.  They 
touched  chords  in  the  depth  of  his  own  soul.  His  genius 
awoke,  but  it  was  to  a  mighty  struggle.  The  divinity  pro 
fessor  had  told  him  that  if  he  aspired  to  the  knowledge 
of  a  theologian,  he  must  curb  the  impetuosity  of  his  im 
agination,  nay,  even  restrain  its  fertility,  and  throwing 
away  the  flowers  of  poetry,  be  content  to  gather  the 
substantial  fruits  of  sober  prose.  This  criticism  settled 
his  destiny.  He  felt  the  stirrings  of  the  mens  divinior, 
and  determined  not  to  repress  them.  Poetry,  not  the 
ology,  should  be  the  star  of  his  adoration,  even  though 
he  should  find  himself  in  the  embraces  of  its  natural 
ally — Poverty.  What  a  history  would  that  be,  the  se 
cret  history  of  the  struggles  of  genius,  describe  it  as  we 
may,  whether  as  enthroned  in  a  comprehensive  intel 
lect,  a  creative  imagination,  or  a  sovereign  and  decisive 
will !  The  world  sees  a  little  of  the  exterior :  Columbus 
knocking  at  the  palaces  of  kings ;  Milton  looking  in 
vain  for  readers  ;  Goldsmith  despairing  of  purchasers 


THE   GENIUS   OF   THOMSON.  237 

for  his  inimitable  Yicar ;  Byron  lashed  into  fury  by 
the  merciless  criticisms  of  his  juvenile  performances ; 
or  Crabbe,  hunting  patronage  in  the  streets  of  London ; 
Thomson  thinking  it  a  great  risk  to  publish  his  "  Win 
ter,"  which,  though  last  in  the  order  of  the  volume  of 
the  Seasons,  was  issued  first  as  a  kind  of  feeler  of  the 
public  mind,  before  he  should  embark  more  largely  on 
so  uncertain  a  sea.  The  public  mind  was  prepared  for 
a  work  of  this  kind.  "When  Thomson  was  only  ten 
years  of  age,  Addison  had  commenced  the  Spectator, 
a  work  that  in  some  points  had  wrought  a  great  revo 
lution  in  the  public  taste.  Sentiments  of  purity,  ex 
amples  of  integrity,  the  claims  of  true  genius  were 
held  up  before  the  people,  and  the  way  prepared  for  a 
kind  reception  of  just  such  a  work  as  the  genius  of 
Thomson  was  now  about  to  produce.  The  love  of  truth 
and  of  nature  must  have  been  strong  within  him,  since, 
although  he  had  abundantly  studied  men  and  contem 
plated  with  enthusiasm  the  works  of  art  in  foreign 
capitals,  he  preferred  to  seek  the  approbation  of  man 
kind,  rather  as  the  interpreter  of  nature  than  as  the 
artistic  painter  of  artificial  subjects  or  scenes.  The 
Winter  on  its  publication  met  with  speedy  favor,  for  it 
supplied  an  urgent  want.  People  had  looked  on  the 
external  scenery  of  nature,  so  admirably  fitted,  as  it 
was  wisely  designed  to  influence  the  mind  and  heart ; 
they  had  been  charmed  to  a  certain  extent  with  its 
beauties,  but  now  those  beauties  came  back  upon  the 
eye  of  the  imagination,  as  if  reflected  from  a  new  and 
splendid  mirror  of  hitherto  unknown  power.  The 
author  was  in  ripe  youth,  about  twenty-six  cet.  Then 
came  his  Summer  in  the  following  year,  1727,  the 


238  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

Spring  in  1728,  and  the  Autumn  in  1730.  Few  of  the 
innumerable  productions  of  the  muse  have  maintained 
so  steady  a  popularity.  The  perdurable  success  of  the 
Seasons  is  to  be  accounted  for  in  two  ways.  First,  the 
admirable  choice  of  the  theme.  The  poet  selects  for 
his  platform  the  broad  basis  of  NATURE.  Secondly,  the 
masterly  execution  of  a  noble  design.  "  As  a  writer," 
said  Dr.  Johnson,  "  he  is  entitled  to  one  praise  of  the 
highest  kind :  his  mode  of  thinking  and  of  expressing 
his  highest  thoughts,  is  original.  His  blank  verse  is 
no  more  the  blank  verse  of  Milton,  or  of  any  other 
poet,  than  the  rhymes  of  Prior  are  the  rhymes  of  Cow- 
ley."  A  third  cause  of  permanent  interest  in  this 
poem  may  be  added,  the  general  tone  of  moral  purity 
which  pervades  it.  The  world  is  improving.  It  is 
advancing — if  not  to  a  state  of  perfectibility,  as  some 
enthusiastic  authors,  like  Madame  de  Stael  have 
dreamed — to  a  better  state.  Good  influences  are  rap 
idly  multiplying.  The  dignity  of  principle  and  the 
majesty  of  virtue  command  increasing  respect  and 
veneration.  There  is  an  immense  augmentation  of 
chaste  and  virtuous  readers  of  English  literature.  There 
is  a  wide-spread  and  pure  taste  which  can  be  pleased 
and  satisfied  with  the  crystal  waters  of  the  "  wells  of 
English  undefiled." 

While  Thomson  and  Cowper  are  read,  we  will  not 
despair  of  the  cause  of  Virtue.  If  Cowper  be  the  poet 
of  home  and  its  associations,  of  nature  in  her  kind  and 
quiet  aspects,  and  rural  simplicities  refined  by  the 
amenities  of  life,  Thomson  may  be  considered  the  poet 
of  the  external  world,  so  far  as  its  revelations  of  organic 
beauty  have  been  made  to  the  physical  eye  of  man, 


THE  GENIUS  OF  THOMSON.  239 

and  to  the  deeper  observation  of  the  imaginative  stu 
dent  of  nature. 

The  Poet  of  the  Seasons  held  a  graceful  pencil,  and 
one  dipped  in  brilliant  colors.  He  is  a  painter  among 
poets,  deeply  enamored  of  landscape  beauties.  It  has 
been  said  of  the  Greeks  that  they  had  no  Thomson  be 
cause  they  had  no  Claude.  Not  that  they  were  insen 
sible  to  the  beauties  of  natural  scenery,  but  "  their  de 
scriptions  of  rural  objects  are  almost  always  what  may 
be  called  sensual  descriptions,  exhibiting  circumstan 
ces  of  corporeal  delight,  such  as  breezes  to  fan  the 
body,  springs  to  cool  the  feet,  grass  to  repose  the  limbs, 
or  fruits  to  regale  the  taste  and  smell,  rather  than  ob 
jects  of  contemplative  pleasure  to  the  eye  and  the  ima 
gination."  The  ancients  were  fond  of  the  fictitious  or 
the  fabulous.  Instead  of  drawing  from  the  deep  well- 
springs  of  life  and  nature,  they  constructed  artificial 
fountains  in  imaginary  regions,  and  amused  themselves 
with  the  creation  of  the  many-colored  jets  d'eau.  In 
stead  of  combining  beautiful  shapes  out  of  the  elements 
of  the  real  and  the  true,  they  relied  chiefly  on  the  fan 
ciful,  and  even  the  grotesque,  for  the  production  of 
those  effects  which  must  be  confessed  to  be  often  strik 
ing,  however  unpleasant  at  times  to  the  polished  ima 
gination  and  critical  taste  of  modern  judges.  Hence 
they  produced  no  such  poems  as  the  Seasons.  Their 
pastorals,  indeed,  may  be  said  to  exhibit  occasional 
touches  that  remind  us  of  that  immortal  work  (Yirgil 
and  Theocritus  will  occur  to  the  reader),  but  are,  for 
the  most  part,  destitute  of  its  profound  contemplation 
of  nature,  its  pure  and  lofty  philosophy,  its  sustained 
delineations  of  original  truth  and  beauty ;  in  fine,  that 


I 

240  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

all-pervading  spirit  of  genuine  poetry,  whose  highest 
perfection  could  never  be  attained  but  under  the  be 
nignant  influence  of  a  Christian  age.  The  imagination 
of  Thomson  is  more  elaborate  than  that  of  Cowper ;  his 
diction  more  studiously  elegant  and  ornate ;  his  de 
scriptions  more  gorgeous.  He  wrote  as  if  he  intended 
to  commend  himself  with  all  diligence  to  an  admiring 
posterity;  as  if  determined  to  win  the  amaranthine 
chaplet :  while  Cowper  pours  out  in  an  unaffected  man 
ner,  and  in  the  most  natural  expressions,  the  fullness 
of  a  mind  as  much  distinguished  for  its  simplicity  as 
for  its  benevolence,  meaning  by  benevolence  an  in 
stinctive  desire  to  do  good.  In  the  productions  of 
Thomson  we  are  treated  with  a  splendid  panorama,  or 
work  of  art,  founded  on  nature,  full  of  enchanting- 
views,  picturesque  delineations,  and  harmonious  pro 
portions,  fitted  as  a  whole  to  awaken  in  us  an  extraor 
dinary  enthusiasm,  while  Cowper  presents  us  with  a 
variety  of  delightful  little  scenes,  every  one  of  which 
is  complete  in  itself,  and  suggestive  of  a  multitude  of 
useful  reflections.  Both,  indeed,  lead  us  up  through 
the  luxuriant  paths  of  Nature  to  the  Uncreated  Source 
of  all,  tracing  as  they  go  those  striking  analogies, 
which  connect  the  visible  and  earthly  with  the  Invisi 
ble  and  Eternal.  They  seize  on  themes  in  their  nature 
adapted  to  draw  forth  the  imagination  "  all  divine," 
and  that,  too,  by  the  wholesome  impulse  of  truth,  clear, 
indisputable,  harmonious  truth,  around  which  Fancy 
might  weave  her  most  lovely  visions  without  indulging 
a  single  excursion  into  the  region  of  fiction,  and  without 
entrenching  on  the  limits  of  theology.  The  genius  of 
Coleridge,  instructed  and  exalted  by  a  reverent  com- 


THE  GKXIU6  OF  THOMSON.  241 

munion  with  such  divine  mysteries,  has  shed  a  new 
lustre  on  the  creations  of  poetry,  and  taught  the  world 
that  even  the  muse  of  Milton  had  not  exhausted  the 
resources  of  Inspiration,  so  potent  to  aid  the  flight  of 
the  poet's  imagination  amid  scenes  of  tender  beauty 
and  awful  grandeur ! 

It  is  obvious  that  the  mind  of  Thomson  was  highly 
cultivated.  Civil  and  natural  history  were  said  to  be 
subjects  of  his  study,  and  he  was  passionately  fond  of 
music,  that  celestial  art,  originating  in  the  bosom  of 
God,  cultivated  among  the  angels,  and  one  of  the  sa 
cred  links  that  connect  earth  with  heaven.  If  it  be  the 
daughter  of  the  skies,  it  is  the  sister  of  poetry,  and 
the  mother  of  many  felicities  in  a  world  where  "  man's 
inhumanity  to  man  makes  countless  thousands  mourn ;" 
and  oftener,  perhaps,  his  inhumanity  to  himself  is  the 
chief  source  of  his  disquietude,  and  of  the  ultimate  wreck 
of  his  hopes.  The  nightingales  of  Richmond  gardens 
would  hold  the  ear  of  the  poet  entranced  for  a  full 
hour  at  a  time,  as  he  sat  at  his  window  drinking  in 
those  strains  directly  taught  them  by  the  great  Creator. 
How  would  he  have  dissolved  away  in  imagination  un 
der  the  almost  supernatural  melody  of  that  Maid  of 
Song,  who  is  now  leading  captive  with  her  enchant 
ments  the  civilized  world  !* 

Lend  me  your  song,  ye  nightingales  ?     Oh,  pour 
The  mazy -running  soul  of  melody 
[nto  my  varied  verse,  while  I  deduce, 
From  the  first  note  the  hollow  cuckoo  sings, 
The  symphony  of  Spring,  and  touch  a  theme 
Unknown  to  fame — the  PASSION  OF  THE  GROVES. 

SEASONS. 
*  Jenny  Lind. 
11 


24:2  GLEAMNGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

In  the  kindred  arts  of  painting,  sculpture,  and  archi 
tecture,  Thomson  indulged  and  delighted  his  taste. 
The  colors  of  the  painter,  the  forms  of  the  statuary,  and 
the  proportions  of  the  architect,  all  engaged  his  study, 
and  awakened  his  admiration.  Thus  did  the  imagina 
tion  of  Byron  luxuriate  amid  the  classic  forms  of  Rome 
and  the  stately  ruins  of  Athens,  though  with  a  less 
genial  and  gentle  spirit  of  observation  than  dwelt  in 
the  bosom  of  Thomson,  who  worshiped  liberty  more 
from  principle  than  from  passion,  who,  indeed,  would 
have  established  a  universal  harmony  of  feeling,  as 
well  as  of  numbers  among  poets,  and  all  ingenuous 
aspirants  after  the  honors  of  the  bays.  He  resembled 
Scott  in  the  meekness  and  magnanimity  of  his  disposi 
tion  and  character,  as  well  as  in  his  enthusiasm  for  the 
charms  of  the  exterior  world.  Neither  the  example 
of  Pope  nor  of  Dry  den  tempted  him  to  engage  in  con 
troversies  and  quarrels,  the  entanglements  of  which  so 
disturbed  their  peace  and  embittered  their  lives.  "  In 
adopting  literary  pursuits  as  the  principal  occupation 
of  my  life,"  says  Scott,  "I  resolved,  if  possible,  to 
avoid  those  weaknesses  of  temper  which  have  seemed 
to  most  easily  beset  my  more  celebrated  predecessors. 
*  *  Without  shutting  my  ears  to  the  voice  of  true 
criticism,  I  would  pay  no  regard  to  that  which  assumes 
the  form  of  satire.  I  therefore  resolved  to  arm  myself 
with  that  triple  brass  of  Horace,  of  which  those  of  my 
profession  are  seldom  held  deficient,  against  all  the 
roving  warfare  of  satire,  parody,  and  sarcasm ;  to  laugh, 
if  the  jest  was  a  good  one ;  if  otherwise,  to  lit  it  hum 
and  buzz  itself  to  sleep.  It  is  to  the  observance  of  these 
rules  that,  after  a  life  of  thirty  years  engaged  in  liter- 


THE  GENIUS  OF  THOMSON.  243 

ary  labors  of  various  kinds,  I  attribute  my  never  hav 
ing  been  entangled  in  any  literary  quarrel  or  contro 
versy."  This  was  the  spirit  of  Thomson,  who  "  is  not 
known  through  his  whole  life  to  have  given  any  person 
one  moment's  pain  by  his  writings  or  otherwise."  He 
declined  participating  in  the  poetical  squabbles  of  the 
day,  and  wras  not,  therefore,  annoyed  by  any  party. 
He  would  not  even  consent  to  be  offended,  however 
just  the  cause,  reciprocating  the  aggressions  of  the  en 
vious  with  a  smile,  a  jest,  or  an  apology  for  them.  It 
required  something  stronger  than  such  trifles,  namely, 
injustice,  oppression,  cruelty,  to  arouse  him,  and  then 
his  indignation  burned  with  a  majestic  ardor,  coloring 
his  strong  and  expressive  countenance,  which  reflected 
the  deep  emotions  of  an  intense  and  meditative  soul. 
He  was  formed  for  friendship,  hence  greatly  beloved 
by  those  who  were  acquainted  with  his  virtues  and  in 
fluenced  by  his  amiableness.  The  inspiration  of  his 
muse,  like  that  of  Cowper,  was  not  fed  with  the  passion 
of  love.  At  least,  he  was  transported  by  no  ecstasies, 
dissolved  in  no  paroxysms  of  the  tender  passion.  He 
was  capable  of  painting  its  features,  as  the  sketch  of 
Musidora  proves ;  but,  as  he  had  devoted  his  genius,  not 
to  portrait  painting,  but  to  broad  and  comprehensive 
scenes,  there  he  excelled,  and  through  that  walk  he 
made  his  ascent  to  the  temple  of  Fame.  Than  the  Sea 
sons  no  poem  ever  written,  perhaps,  suits  better  with 
blank  verse.  It  would  have  been  lamentable,  indeed, 
to  fetter  such  a  genius  in  its  excursions  with  the  gyves 
of  rhyme.  The  harmony  of  ideas  and  of  coloring  is  so 
superior  to  the  mere  jingle  of  similar  endings,  that  the 
most  eminent  of  the  tuneful  race,  like  Milton,  Shak- 


244  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

speare,  Young,  and  Thomson,  in  their  best  works  dis 
pense  with  rhyme.  On  the  basis  of  these  works  rests 
the  structure  of  their  immortality.  The  Seasons  are  so 
characterized  by  general  views,  expanded  contempla 
tions,  and  circumstantial  varieties,  as  not  to  admit  in 
the  verbal  construction  such  "  intersections  of  the  sense" 
as  is  implied  in  rhyme.  The  "  dread  magnificence  of 
heaven,"  the  glorious  efflorescence  of  earth — the  mighty 
amplitude  of  the  ocean,  on  whose  "  azure  brow  Time 
writes  no  wrinkles,"  over  which  ten  thousand  fleets 
have  swept,  and  left  no  trace — the  free  spirit  of  man 
warring  with  the  elements,  or  subduing  them  humbly 
to  his  own  service,  all  those  kindred  sources  of  thought 
and  expression  disdain  the  shackles  which  art  has  pre 
pared  for  genius.  The  poem  of  the  Seasons  is  not  dis 
tinguished  for  rigid  method,  though  there  be  a  kind  of 
order  of  nature  observed.  The  varieties  and  vicissi 
tudes  to  be  depicted  are  so  extensively  miscellaneous, 
that  the  very  nature  of  the  theme  seems  to  forbid  a 
steady  regard  to  method.  Nor  is  the  general  impres 
sion  at  all  weakened  by  the  fact,  while  it  justifies  those 
elegant  digressions  occasionally  made  by  the  poet,  who, 
like  the  traveler,  thus  refreshes  himself  and  those  that 
accompany  him.  "  He  thinks  in  a  peculiar  train,  and 
he  thinks  always  as  a  man  of  genius ;  he  looks  round 
on  nature  and  on  life  with  the  eye  which  Nature  be 
stows  only  on  the  poet ;  the  eye  that  distinguishes 
every  thing  presented  to  its  view,  whatever  there  is  on 
which  imagination  can  delight  to  be  detained,  and  with 
a  mind  that  at  once  comprehends  the  vast  and  attends 
to  the  minute."  Description  having  been  the  chief 
aim  of  the  author,  and  success  crowning  his  plan,  he 


THE  GENIUS  OF  THOMSON.  245 

was  much  imitated  by  a  tribe  of  descriptive  poets, 
whose  works  have  not  survived. 

There  is  a  beauty  in  the  work  arising  from  the  analogy 
it  furnishes,  as  between  the  history  of  the  year  and  the 
successive  portions  of  the  life  of  individual  man.  The 
spring-time  of  youth,  with  its  buds  of  promise  and 
blossoms  of  hope  ;  the  meridian  of  life  with  its  energy, 
its  expectation,  its  glowing  achievements ;  the  autumn 
of  life,  with  its  sobriety,  maturity,  and  abounding 
fruits  ;  the.  winter  of  age,  with  its  comparative  dullness, 
dependence  on  the  past,  and  inactivity, — these  are  dis 
tinctly  marked  periods,  and  each  is  amply  suggestive 
of  thought  and  reflection 

"  See  here  thy  pictured  life !     Pass  some  few  years, 
Thy  flowering  Spring,  thy  Summer's  ardent  strength, 
Thy  sober  Autumn  fading  into  age, 
And  pale  concluding  Winter  comes  at  last 
And  shuts  the  scene.    Ah!  whither  now  are  fled 
Those  dreams  of  greatness  ?  those  unsolid  hopes 
3f  happiness  ?  those  longings  after  fame — 
Those  restless  cares — those  busy,  bustling  days  ? 
Those  gay-spent,  festive  nights  ?" 

But  even  the  winter  landscape  is  made  to  smile,  as 
when  the  Creator  spreads  over  it  that  radiant  beauty, 
reflected  from  a  bright  morning  sun,  or  a  clear  moon 
light  night,  or  when  the  fairy  frostwork  of  the  invisible 
Power  has  alighted  upon  the  gardens,  groves,  and  for 
ests,  hangino-  its  millions  of  diamonds  in  the  most  fan- 

J  O         O 

ciful  style  upon  the  myriads  of  vegetable  forms,  from 
the  lowly  shrub  to  the  lofty  tree.  So  hath  old  age  its 
ornaments,  the  hoary  head  its  crown  of  glory.  How 
calmly  sunk  the  venerable  "Wordsworth  to  the  repose 


246  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

of  the  tomb,  his  white  locks  coming  not  in  grief  but  in 
gladness  to  the  grave,  the  lambent  lustre  of  an  unsullied 
poetic  life  gilding  his  pathway  down  that  valley,  while 
the  honorable  chaplet  of  a  well-earned  fame  adorns  his 
tomb.  Thomson  was  struck  down  in  the  deep  summer 
of  his  life,  at  the  age  of  forty-eight,  when  the  health  of 
his  body  was  strong,  and  the  powers  of  his  mind  were 
ripe;  just  at  that  period,  indeed,  when  the  Summer  was 
blending  itself  into  the  Autumn  of  life,  and  the  vigor 
of  the  whole  man  had  scarcely  begun  to  be  impaired. 
What  treasures  of  the  imagination  were  suddenly  and 
irretrievably  buried  in  his  grave !  He  was  a  chaste, 
genial,  benevolent,  pure-minded  poet,  capable  of  teach 
ing,  as  well  as  pleasing  mankind,  which  last  has  been 
held,  rather  unreasonably,  to  be  the  chief  end  and  aim 
of  poetry.  We  would  recommend  to  the  youth  of  the 
land  to  study  such  a  book  as  the  Seasons  in  preference 
to  that  green,  flippant,  flatulent  poetry  and  prose  of 
the  day,  so  much  of  which  is  hawked  about  the  streets, 
and  peddled  "  in  the  gates"  of  our  cities,  at  railway 
stations,  hotels,  public  places,  and  wheresoever  pur 
chasers  can  be  found.  When  Thomson  departed,  he 
"  took  a  man's  life  with  him,"  and  yet  a  portion  re 
mains  to  earth.  His  mind,  though  gknving  in  other 
spheres,  is  still  an  inheritance  for  all  posterity,  as  it 
was  a  regal  possession  to  himself. 


THE   GENIUS   OF   COWPER.  247 


XXX, 
(Senius  of 

IN  contemplating  the  varieties  of  human  kind,  noth 
ing  is  more  obvious  than  that  some  men  are  endowed 
with  genius  for  the  production  of  one  set  of  results, 
while  others  are  invested  with  the  same  power  with  a 
manifest  adaptation  to  different  results.  So  the  interior 
texture  of  that  impalpable  thing  we  call  genius,  is  di 
verse  in  various  subjects.  In  some  we  find  the  devel 
opment  of  extraordinary  energies,  in  others  the  elabora 
tion  of  the  gentler  traits  of  character.  Some  are  emi 
nently  capable  of  devising,  others  of  executing.  One 
man  is  distinguished  for  the  ardor  of  his  imagination, 
another  for  the  soundness  of  his  judgment.  A  bold, 
daring  temper  of  mind  is  indigenous  to  one  class  ;  a 
gentle,  timid  disposition  characterizes  another.  The 
spirit  of  sarcasm,  of  irony,  of  invective,  riots  in  the 
mental  activities  of  some  men,  while  that  of  tenderness, 
benevolence,  and  habitual  charitableness  constitutes  the 
repose  of  others.  Of  the  former,  Byron  might  be  men 
tioned  as  an  example  ;  of  the  latter,  Cowper.  They 
were  both  men  of  acknowledged  genius.  The  world 
has  adjudicated  on  their  respective  titles  to  the  inherit 
ance  of  fame.  But  how  different  the  men  ! 

It  may  be  true  that  the  qualities  of  Byron  were  more 
fitted  to  excite  the  stronger  and  sterner,  as  they  cer 
tainly  were  to  awaken  the  severer  and  more  rampant 
feelings  of  our  nature,  while  those  of  Cowper  tend  to 


248          GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 


elicit  whatever  in  man  is  tender,  reverent,  social,  and 
sympathetic.  He  is  eminently  the  poet  of  the  home 
and  the  heart,  and  even  when  contending  with  the  fonl 
and  formidable  spirit^  of  melancholy,  he  strives  to  make 
others  cheerful  and  happy. 

In  one  of  his  letters  he  says  that  his  own  experience 
contradicts  the  philosophical  axiom  that  nothing  can 
communicate  what  it  has  not  in  itself,  for  that  he  wrote 
certain  poems  "  to  amuse  a  mind  oppressed  with  melan 
choly,"  and  that  by  so  doing  he  has  "  comforted  others, 
at  the  same  time  that  they  administer  to  me  no  conso 
lation."  One  can  hardly  believe  that  from  a  mind  over 
which  hung  such  clouds  and  darkness  there  could  issue 
such  a  piece  as  "  John  G-ilpin,"  or  the  "  Report  of  an 
Adjudged  Case,  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  books." 
Yet  the  mind  of  man  is  wondrous  !  "What  powerful  ef 
forts  will  it  not  make  to  rise  into  a  region,  where  it  can 
behold  the  cheerful  light  of  day,  and  breathe  the  health 
ful  air  of  freedom  !  Cowper  long  looked  upon  himself 
as  a  doomed  reprobate,  a  hopeless  exile  from  the  favor 
of  God — but  faith  triumphed  at  last.  That  exploded 
absurdity — that  a  powerful  genius  must  necessarily  re 
side  in  a  slender  and  morbid  frame — seems  long  to 
have  possessed  even  intelligent  minds.  Education  is 
coming  to  be  considered  as  properly  embracing  our 
whole  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  being,  and  the 
time,  we  hope,  is  at  hand,  when  it  will  be  no  reproach 
to  carry  about  a  robust  mind  in  a  robust  body.  In 
deed,  we  have  among  the  intellectual  magnates  of  the 
land  men  of  massive  frames  and  ample  physical  devel 
opment.  Look  at  the  stalwart  line  of  Secretaries  of 
State  for  some  years  past ! 


THE   GENIUS   OF   COWPEE.  249 

But  a  poet  must  be  a  man  of  more  ethereal  mold. 
Why  so  ?  Behold  Sir  Walter  Scott,  that  man  of  regal 
imagination,  who  breathed  the  spirit  of  poetry  into  the 
body  of  his  romance,  and  transfused  romance  into  his 
poetry,  while  with  dramatic  energy  and  verisimilitude 
he  summons  before  us,  on  the  stage  he  has  erected,  the 
stirring  scenes  and  characters  of  other  days,  as  with  the 
wand  of  an  enchanter.  What  an  athletic  form  minis 
tered  to  the  commands  of  his  kingly  mind,  for  it  was 
he  who  loved  to  say,  "  My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is." 
And  Johnson,  the  critic,  moralist,  essayist,  lexicogra 
pher,  poet — yes,  POET,  for  in  his  great  mind  the  ele 
ments  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful  lay  in  all  their  won 
drous  activity ;  Johnson  was  a  man  of  giant  physical 
strength,  of  an  apparent  animalism  too  awkward  to  ad 
mit  of  refinement  in  this  world.  Burns,  too,  was  a  man 
of  massive  mold,  yet  how  exquisitely  poetical !  The 
philosophy  of  the  union  of  soul  and  body  is  as  yet  little 
understood.  We  want  liealihy  men  to  conduct  the  af 
fairs  of  the  world,  as  well  as  to  serve  in  the  Court  of 
the  Muses  and  the  Graces.  What  injuries  have  States 
sustained  ;  what  interruptions  of  the  peace  of  the  world 
have  been  caused  by  a  fit  of  the  gout,  of  dyspepsy,  of 
morbid  melancholy,  of  base  intemperance,  or  by  some 
paroxysm  of  passion  engendered  by  the  humors  of  an 
unhealthy  body !  The  very  union  of  the  States  may  be 
endangered  by  these  causes. 

Had  Cowper  been  free  from  those  distressing  mala 
dies,  from  the  depredations  of  that  "  fierce  banditti,"  as 
he  calls  them, 

"  That  with  a  black,  infernal  train, 
Make  cruel  inroads  in  the  brain," 
11* 


250  GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

how  much  happier  had  he  been,  how  much  more  might 
he  have  accomplished !  Pity,  not  censure  ;  charity,  not 
severity,  are  due  to  the  interesting  sufferer,  who  had 
too  much  timidity  to  read  aloud  before  his  superiors, 
thereby  losing  a  good  office.  That,  however,  was  a  tri 
fle,  compared  with  the  deep  fountain  of  melancholy  that 
existed  within  him,  whose  waters  no  kind  angel,  descend 
ing  from  heaven,  healed  by  casting  in  some  celestial  gift. 
Religion  itself  became  tinged  with  the  dark  coloring  of 
the  disease  it  would  relieve.  To  most  pilgrims  of  Time 
the  New  Year  is  a  cheerful  season.  "  Happy"  wishes 
then  fly  in  clusters  all  around  the  domestic  and  the  so 
cial  circles.  How  does  Cowper  speak  of  the  old  year  ? 
"  I  looked  back  upon  all  the  passages  and  occurrences 
of  it  as  a  traveler  looks  back  upon  a  wilderness  through 
which  he  has  passed  with  weariness  and  sorrow  of  heart, 
reaping  no  other  fruit  of  his  labor  than  the  poor  conso 
lation,  that,  dreary  as  the  desert  was,  he  left  it  all  be 
hind  him."  While  indulging  a  similar  strain  of  lugu- 
briousness,  his  thoughts  fall  into  the  natural  language 
of  the  poet :  "  Nature  revives  again,  but  a  soul  once 
slain  lives  no  more.  The  hedge  that  has  been  appar 
ently  dead  is  not  so  :  it  will  burst  into  leaf,  and  blossom 
at  the  appointed  time  ;  but  no  such  time  is  appointed 
for  the  stake  that  stands  in  it.  It  is  as  dead  as  it  seems, 
and  will  prove  itself  no  dissembler."  Mournfully  beau 
tiful  !  And  thus  had  he  been  talking  for  eleven  linger 
ing  years,  long  enough  to  make  "  despair  an  inveterate 
habit." 

"We  do  not  recollect  that  any  of  the  biographers  of 
Cowper  have  given  sufficient  weight,  if  they  have  even 
adverted  to  one  very  natural  cause  of  depression,  the 


THE   GENIUS   OF   COWPEE.  251 

destitution  of  any  regular  profession  or  employment  for 
nearly  sixty  years,  with  no  wife  to  love,  no  children 
to  provide  for.  It  were  enough  to  wither  even  a  joyous 
temperament.  "  The  color  of  our  whole  life,"  said  Cow- 
per,  "  is  generally  such  as  the  first  three  or  four  years 
in  which  we  are  our  own  masters  make  it.  Then  it  is 
that  we  may  be  said  to  shape  our  own  destiny,  and  to 
treasure  up  for  ourselves  a  series  of  future  successes  or 
disappointments."  Those  years  were  spent  in  idleness, 
to  the  influence  of  which  was  added  the  effect  of  his 
mortifying  failure  as  clerk  to  the  House  of  Lords,  thus 
throwing  him  upon  any  chance  resources  for  the  supply 
of  the  various  wants  of  life.  The  final  result  was  the 
providential  overruling  of  the  whole  to  the  production 
of  a  consummate  poet.  "  Had  I  employed  my  time  as 
wisely  as  you,"  he  writes  to  his  friend,  Mr.  Rose,  "  in 
a  situation  very  similar  to  yours,  I  had  never  been  a 
poet,  perhaps,  but  I  might  by  this  time  have  acquired 
a  character  of  more  importance  in  society." 

He  had  reached  fifty  years  before  Fame  had  dropped 
a  single  wreath  upon  his  brow,  or  he  had  even  seriously 
courted  the  poetic  Muse.  "  Dejection  of  spirits,  which 
I  suppose  may  have  prevented  many  a  man  from  be 
coming  an  author,  made  me  one.  I  find  constant  em 
ployment  necessary,  and  therefore  take  care  to  be  con 
stantly  employed."  He  seems  to  have  thought  that  the 
season  of  winter  was  the  most  congenial  to  the  opera 
tions  of  his  mind  and  the  productions  of  his  fancy. 
"  The  season  of  the  year  which  generally  pinches  off  the 
flowers  of  poetry,  .unfolds  mine,  such  as  they  are,  and 
crowns  me  with  a  winter  garland.  In  this  respect, 
therefore,  I  and  my  contemporary  bards  are  by  no 


252  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

means  upon  a  par.  They  write  when  the  delightful  in 
fluence  of  fine  weather,  fine  prospects,  and  a  brisk  mo 
tion  of  the  animal  spirits  make  poetry  almost  the  lan 
guage  of  nature ;  and  I,  when  icicles  depend  from  all 
the  leaves  of  the  Parnassian  laurel,  and  when  a  reason 
able  man  would  as  little  expect  to  succeed  in  verse  as 
to  hear  a  blackbird  whistle."  The  very  spirit  of  modes 
ty  breathing  through  language  deeply  poetical !  It  is 
the  province  of  genius,  in  its  imaginative  forms,  to  ren 
der  tributary  to  its  object  the  whole  circle  of  the  sea 
sons,  and  to  expound  the  thousand  occult  meanings  of 
nature  in  her  depths  and  her  varieties,  as  well  as  to  ex 
hibit  the  more  obvious  images  of  beauty,  of  \vhich  she 
furnishes  in  such  profusion  the  striking  originals.  Hear 
the  voice  of  his  muse  apostrophizing  even  stern  Winter : 

"  I  crown  thee  king  of  intimate  delights, 
Fireside  enjoyments,  home-born  happiness !" 

Bachelor  as  he  was,  he  sought  his  chief  happiness  in 
the  interior  sanctities  of  domestic  life.  There  his  gentle 
spirit  was  nourished  with  the  aliment  drawn  from  the 
purest  sources  of  friendship  and  virtue,  and  thence  his 
imagination  took  its  flights,  not  bold,  but  beautiful ;  not 
ascending  to  the  lofty  height  of  Milton's  "  great  argu 
ment,"  but  holding  its  graceful  way  through  the  middle 
region  of  thought,  and  fancy,  and  feeling,  familiar  to 
the  mass  of  minds  in  any  measure  susceptible  to  the 
beauties  of  poetry.  The  critics  of  half  a  century  ago, 
while  they  hesitated  to  admit  Cowper  to  that  high  rank 
among  the  great  poets  which  has  been  adjudged  him 
by  the  verdict  of  posterity,  confessed  that  his  works 
contained  many  traits  of  strong  and  original  genius,  and 


THE    GENIUS   OF   COWPER. 


a  richness  of  idiomatic  phraseology  seldom  equaled  in 
the  English  language.  Headers  of  poetry  had  become 
so  accustomed  to  the  refined  diction  and  polished  versi 
fication  of  his  predecessors — Addison,  Pope,  Gray,  and 
Prior — that  they  were  slow  to  welcome  a  new  aspirant 
i'  the  bays,  who  came  with  a  free,  unfettered,  and  even 
omewhat  careless  air  to  claim  their  homage.  He  might 
gather  a  few  humble  flowers  along  the  sides  of  Parnas 
sus,  but  to  think  of  reaping  near  its  summit  was  the 
height  of  presumption.  Yet  which  of  those  poets  has 
now  so  many  readers  as  Cowper?  Goldsmith  may 
better  compare  with  him  for  permanence  and  extent  of 
interest,  so  eminently  natural  is  he ;  but  what  shall  be 
said  of  Dryden,  earlier,  it  is  true,  than  the  others,  but 
one  who  had  long  been  considered  as  having  passed 
into  the  apotheosis  of  the  Dii  majores  ?  He  may  have 
one  reader  to  five  hundred  who  luxuriate  in  Cowper's 
parlor,  alcove,  and  garden,  with  the  TASK  in  hand. 

Then  for  purity,  what  a  contrast  between  these  last 
two !  The  Bard  of  Christianity,  as  he  has  been  called, 
wrote  no  line,  which  "  dying,  he  would  'wish  to  blot." 
To  Cowper  the  sentiment  is  more  impressively  applica 
ble  by  the  suffrage  of  the  public  mind,  than  Thomson, 
to  whom  it  is  applied  by  Lord  Lyttleton — and  deserv 
edly  so.  They  both  communed  with  Nature,  the  one 
with  her  minute  lights  and  shades,  the  other  with  her 
grander  forms  and  more  striking  developments.  The 
imagination  of  Cowper,  like  the  microscopic  glass,  de 
tected  the  shape  and  tint  of  the  very  petal  of  a  flower. 
That  of  Thomson  ranged  with  the  sweep  of  the  tele 
scope  through  fields  of  light,  and  distant  spheres,  radi 
ant  with  beauty  and  vocal  with  harmony.  Each  ful- 


254  GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

filled  his  mission  with  dignity,  propriety,  and  devotion, 
causing  us  to  pray  0 !  si  sic  omnes !  But  the  nine 
teenth  century  has  produced  so  much  mysticism,  such 
an  amount  of  nebulous  metaphysics  in  poetry  and  prose, 
as  to  make  some  honest  people  doubt  the  lawfulness  of 
their  veneration  for  the  standard  poets,  especially  the 
more  intelligible  ones,  or  whether  there  is  any  such 
thing  as  standard  poetry.  Coleridge,  indeed,  is  clear, 
solemn,  and  sublime,  when  he  approaches  nearest  to 
Milton,  as  in  his  "  Sunrise  Hymn ;"  and  Wordsworth 
is  most  natural,  perspicuous,  and  impressive,  when  he 
most  resembles  Cowper  ;  but  Shelley,  Keats,  Tennyson, 
Bowring — what  do  they  mean  in  half  their  poetry  ? 

Cowper  stands  almost  alone  in  having  nothing  to  do 
with  the  passion  of  love,  which  has  always  figured  at 
such  a  rate  in  all  sorts  of  novels,  dramas,  and  poems. 
It  was  not  because  he  was  destitute  of  sensibility.  His 
life  was  a  tender  sentiment,  his  heart  was  formed  for 
friendship ;  he  was  even  an  admirer  of  the  female  sex, 
and  he  intrusted  the  happiness  of  his  life  to  the  care 
and  sympathy  of  female  friends ;  but  the  romance  of 
the  tender  passion  was  beneath  the  dignity  of  his  Muse, 
while  for  real  purity  of  affection,  as  well  as  of  imagina 
tion,  no  poet  has  been  more  distinguished.  He  pos 
sesses  the  sweetness,  if  not  the  grandeur  of  Milton ;  and 
if  he  does  not  emulate  the  song  of  the  Seraphim,  who, 
in  their  exalted  spheres,  minister  so  near  the  throne  of 
the  Eternal,  his  strain  is  ever  coincident  with  the  thou 
sand  choral  harmonies  of  nature  and  mind  around  him. 
In  speaking  of  the  influence  of  the  "  country"  upon  his 
mind,  even  that  country  which  "  God  made,"  he  says, 
with  enthusiasm, 


TUP:  GENIUS  OF  COWPER.  255 

"  I  never  framed  a  wish,  or  formed  a  plan, 
That  flattered  me  "with  hopes  of  earthly  bliss, 
But  there  I  laid  the  scene ;  there  early  strayed 
My  fancy,  ere  yet  liberty  of  choice 
Had  found  me,  or  the  hope  of  being  free. 
My  very  dreams  were  rural ;  rural,  too, 
The  first-born  efforts  of  my  youthful  muse." 


The  regions  of  fiction  he  left  others  to  explore ;  the 
artificial  manners  of  a  polished  age  ;  the  martial  deeds 
of  heroic  periods  he  relinquished  to  their  admirers,  and 
devoted  himself  to  the  socialities  of  domestic  life,  to  the 
promotion  of  pure  morals,  and  the  elevation  of  public 
sentiment  on  a  proper  basis,  and  to  a  worthy  standard. 
"  He  impresses  us,"  says  Campbell,  "  with  the  idea  of 
a  being  whose  fine  spirit  had  been  long  enough  in  the 
mixed  society  of  the  world  to  be  polished  by  its  inter 
course,  and  yet  withdrawn  so  soon  as  to  retain  an  un 
worldly  degree  of  purity  and  simplicity."  He  listened 
with  alacrity  to  the  secret  suggestions  of  the  spirit  of 
philanthropy,  and  at  times  rose  to  the  solemn  dignity 
and  fervor  of  a  prophet's  strain,  thus  realizing  the  clas 
sic,  nay,  the  Hebraic  idea  of  the  union  of  poet  and 
prophet  in  the  same  venerated  person. 

Among  those  sentiments  which  have  been  incorpo 
rated  into  the  thinking  and  speaking  of  men,  may  be 
found  many  of  the  conceptions  of  Cowper's  genius,  es 
pecially  as  embodied  in  the  "Task,"  near  the  conclusion 
of  which  he  ascends  to  so  lofty  a  height,  as  to  remind 
us  of  the  sublimity  of  Milton.  It  is  perfectly  obvious, 
that  before  his  muse  took  that  flight,  she  had  bathed 
her  wing  in  the  fountain  of  inspiration.  The  voice  of 
the  bard  seems  to  echo  that  of  the  Hebrew  prophet,  as 


25G  GLTCANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


he  stood  upou  the  Mount  of  Vision,  and  beheld  the  un 
folding  glories  of  the  latter  day. 

The  satire  of  Cowper  was  at  times  as  keen  as  his  own 
sensibilities,  yet  blending  itself  with  a  gentle  manner 
and  a  genial  humor,  it  disarmed  all  suspicion  of  malig 
nity  in  its  composition,  thus  augmenting  its  moral  pow 
er.  Yice,  folly,  and  even  finery,  felt  the  sharpness  of 
his  satire.  In  his  themes,  as  in  so  many  clear  mirrors, 
we  see  reflected  the  multiplied  images  of  the  spirit  of  the 
man.  Truth,  Hope,  Charity,  Retirement,  Ode  to  Peace, 
Human  Frailty,  the  Rose,  the  Doves,  the  Glowworm, 
Lily,  Nosegay,  Epitaph  on  a  Hare,  such  are  the  sub 
jects  that  wakened  in  him  congenial  thought  and  feel 
ing.  The  lines  on  his  Mother's  Portrait  are  exquisitely 
tender  and  affecting,  instinct  with  love,  overflowing 
with  affection,  with  that  love  which  is  never  so  intense 
as  when  softened  by  affliction,  and  intertwined  with 
pensive  recollections  of  the  past.  His  pieces  are  not 
wrought  with  the  perfection  and  coldness  of  artistic 
skill,  like  those  of  the  sculptor,  but  flow  from  the  imagi 
nation  right  through  the  channel  of  the  heart,  taking 
the  most  natural  shape  and  costume  of  the  moment  and 
the  occasion. 

The  great  critic  of  the  North,  who  sat  so  many  years 
on  the  Bench  of  Literature  before  he  occupied  the  Bench 
of  Civil  Justice,  from  which  death  has  recently  called 
him,  thus  pronounced  his  opinion  of  Cowper:  "The 
great  variety  and  truth  of  his  descriptions ;  the  sterling 
weight  and  sense  of  most  of  his  observations,  and,  above 
all,  the  great  appearance  of  facility  with  which  every 
thing  is  executed,  and  the  happy  use  he  has  so  often 
made  of  the  most  ordinary  language,  all  concur  to 


THE   GENIUS   OF   COWPER.  257 

stamp  upon  his  poems  the  character  of  original  genius, 
and  remind  us  of  the  merits  that  have  secured  immor 
tality  to  Shakspeare." 

Little  need  be  added  concerning  his  prose.  It  is  known 
to  have  been  eminently  easy  and  natural.  His  letters 
especially  are  models.  It  is  sufficient  praise  to  say  that 
Robert  Hall,  that  master  of  the  art  of  composition,  thus 
speaks  of  Cowper:  "I  have  always  considered  his  let 
ters  as  the  finest  specimens  of  the  epistolary  style  in 
our  language.  To  an  air  of  inimitable  ease  and  negli 
gence,  they  unite  a  high  degree  of  correctness,  such  as 
could  result  only  from  the  clearest  intellect,  combined 
with  the  most  finished  taste.  I  have  scarcely  found  a, 
single  word  which  is  capable  of  being  exchanged  for  a 
better.  Literary  errors  I  can  discern  none.  The  selec 
tion  of  the  words,  and  the  structure  of  the  periods  are 
inimitable;  they  present^ as  striking  a  contrast  as  can 
well  be  conceived  to  the  turgid  verbosity  which  passes 
at  present  for  fine  writing,  and  which  bears  a  great  re 
semblance  to  the  degeneracy  which  marks  the  style  of 
Ammianus  Marcellinus,  as  compared  to  that  of  Cicero 
and  Livy.  A  perpetual  effort  and  struggle  is  made  to 
supply  the  place  of  vigor ;  garish  and  dazzling  colors 
are  substituted  for  chaste  ornament,  and  the  hideous 
distortions  of  weakness  for  native  strength.  In  my 
humble  opinion,  the  study  of  Cowper's  prose  may  on 
this  account  be  as  useful  in  forming  the  taste  of  young 
people  as  his  poetry." 


258          GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 


XXXI, 

©emits  of 

TWENTY-FIVE  years  ago  it  was  announced,  in  an  Edin 
burgh  journal,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott:  "That  mighty 
genius,  which  walked  among  men  as  something  supe 
rior  to  ordinary  mortality,  and  whose  powers  were  be 
held  with  wonder,  and  something  approaching  to  terror, 
as  if  we  knew  not  whether  they  were  of  good  or  of  evil, 
is  laid  as  soundly  to  rest  as  the  poor  peasant,  whose 
ideas  never  went  beyond  his  daily  task.  The  voice  of 
just  blame,  and  that  of  malignant  censure,  are  at  once 
silenced  ;  and  we  feel  almost  as  if  the  great  luminary 
of  heaven  had  suddenly  disappeared  from  the  sky,  at 
the  very  moment  when  every  telescope  was  leveled  for 
the  examination  of  the  spots  which  dimmed  its  bright 
ness."  Thus  did  the  great  "  Wizard  of  the  Xorth"  open 
his  beautiful  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  KVble  En 
chanter  of  the  South,  within  whose  fascinated  circle  had 
been  drawn  the  beauty,  fashion,  genius,  and  literature 
of  England.  It  was  as  if  the  light  of  one  star  answered 
to  that  of  another,  or  as  if  the  music  of  the  one  respond 
ed  to  the  dying  strains  of  the  other — each  in  his  exalted 
sphere,  when  the  "Great  Unknown"  thus  uttered  his 
voluntary  eulogy  on  a  kindred  genius,  not  to  say  impe 
rial  rival,  of  the  first  magnitude,  if  the  magnanimous 
spirit  of  the  former  could  so  conceive  of  any  contem 
porary.  The  first  fervor  of  admiring  enthusiasm  of  the 


THE  GENIUS  OF  BYRON.  259 

genius  of  Byron  having  been  cooled  by  the  lapse  of 
time,  we  are  enabled  to  form  a  more  judicious  estimate 
of  it,  and  of  the  treasures  it  poured  forth  with  such  lav 
ish  profusion.  It  is  not  now  the  image  of  the  young 
lord  we  see  in  the  brilliant  saloon,  surrounded  by  gay 
admirers,  with  a  face  of  classic  beauty,  expressive  eyes, 
an  exquisite  mouth  and  chin,  hands  aristocratically 
small  and  delicately  white,  while  over  his  head  strayed 
those  luxuriant,  dark-brown  curls,  that  seem  to  consti 
tute  the  mystery  of  finishing  beauty  about  the  immor 
tal  brow  of  man  and  womankind,  and  quite  to  defy  the 
art  of  the  sculptor.  It  is  not  such  a  one  we  see — a 
living,  moving  form,  like  our  own ;  but  we  think  of  the 
ghastly  image  of  death,  we  revert  to  the  form  molder- 
ing  in  its  subterranean  bed,  relapsing  into  as  common 
dust  as  that  of  the  poorest  beggar.  But  the  MIND  re 
mains — that  which  has  stamped  its  burning  thoughts  on 
the  poetic  page ;  it  survives,  imperishable,  in  another, 
an  ethereal  sphere.  It  has  sought  congenial  compan 
ionship  in  one  of  the  two  states  of  perpetual  being,  as 
inevitably  demonstrated  by  reason  as  taught  by  revela 
tion.  Byron  himself  might  scorn  to  aspire  after  celes 
tial  purity  and  glory,  but  he  could  draw  with  a  dark 
and  flagrant  pencil  the  terrors  of  remorse  and  retribu 
tion.  He  believed  in  the  future  existence  of  the  soul, 
whatever  words  of  ominous  meaning  might  at  times  be 
inserted  to  complete  a  line  or  to  indulge  a  whim  of 
fancy.  "  Of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,"  said  he,  "  it 
appears  to  me  there  can  be  but  little  doubt,  if  we  at 
tend  for  a  moment  to  the  action  of  mind ;  it  is  in  per 
petual  activity.  I  used  to  doubt  it,  but  reflection  has 
taught  me  better.  It  acts  also  so  very  independent  of 


260  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

the  body — in  dreams,  for  instance.  *  *  *  I  have 
often  been  inclined  to  materialism  in  philosophy,  but 
could  never  bear  its  introduction  into  Christianity, 
which  appears  to  me  essentially  founded  on  the  soul. 
For  this  reason  Priestley's  materialism  always  struck  me 
as  deadly.  Believe  the  resurrection  of  the  Tjody,  if  you 
will,  but  not  without  the  soul"  Thus  there  were  times 
when  the  "  divinity  stirred  within  him,"  and  the  soul 
asserted  its  regal  prerogatives,  and  vindicated  its  own 
expectations  of  the  future.  Nay,  the  sentiment  must 
have  been  habitual,  for  how  often  is  it  naturally  implied 
in  the  ardor  of  composition,  as  in  those  beautiful  lines : 

"  Remember  me  !  Oh,  pass  not  them  my  grave, 

Without  one  thought  whose  relics  there  recline. 
The  only  pang  my  bosom  dare  not  brave, 
Would  be  to  find  forgetfulness  in  thine." 

But  our  chief  concern  is  with  the  poet  Byron,  not 
with  the  philosopher  or  the  peer.  It  has  been  said  that 
in  reviewing  the  lives  of  the  most  illustrious  poets — the 
class  of  intellect  in  which  the  characteristic  features  of 
genius  are  most  strongly  marked — we  shall  find  that, 
from  Homer  to  Byron,  they  have  been  restless  and  soli 
tary  spirits,  with  minds  wrapped  up,  like  silkworms, 
in  their  own  tasks,  either  strangers  or  rebels  to  domes 
tic  ties,  and  bearing  about  with  them  a  deposit  for  pos 
terity  in  their  souls,  to  the  jealous  watching  and  enrich 
ing  of  which  most  all  other  thoughts  and  considerations 
have  been  sacrificed.  In  accordance  with  this  theory, 
Pope  said  :  "  One  misfortune  of  extraordinary  geniuses 
is,  that  their  very  friends  are  more  apt  to  admire  than 
to  love  them."  True,  they  have  often  "  dwelt  apart," 


- 


THE    GENIUS   OF   BYKON.  261 


have  been  so  engaged  in  cultivating  the  imaginative 
faculty,  as  to  become  less  sensible  to  the  objects  of  real 
life,  and  have  substituted  the  sensibilities  of  the  imagi 
nation  for  those  of  the  heart.  Thus  Dante  is  accused 
of  wandering  away  from  his  wife  and  children  to  nurse 
his  dream  of  Beatrice  ;  Petrarch  to  have  banished  his 
daughter  from  his  roof,  while  he  luxuriated  in  poetic 
and  impassioned  ideals :  Alfieri  always  kept  away  from 
his  mother ;  and  Sterne  preferred,  in  the  somewhat  un 
couth  language  of  Byron,  "  whining  over  a  dead  ass  to 
relieving  a  living  mother."  But  did  not  Milton  love 
his  daughter  with  an  intense  tenderness  ?  Than  Cow- 
per  who  a  more  filial  and  devoted  son  to  the  memory 
of  his  mother  ?  A  fond  father  as  well  as  faithful  son 
was  Campbell.  Burns,  too,  delighted  in  his  "  fruitful 
vine"  and  "  tender  olive-plants."  In  Wordsworth  the 
beauty  and  purity  of  domestic  life  shone  forth  to  the 
end.  Southey  had  a  home  of  love  and  peace.  Scott 
was  a  model  of  a  husband  and  father.  Nothing  can  ex 
ceed  the  affecting  tenderness  of  some  passages  in  his 
diary  at  the  death  of  his  wife.  Goldsmith  was  neither 
husband  nor  father,  yet  his  fine  poetry  never  alienated 
his  heart  from  the  softer  scenes  and  sympathies  of  life. 
It  seemed  rather  to  augment  their  claims,  and  the  clear 
current  from  the  fountain  of  the  imagination  is  seen 
sparkling  with  beauty  and  murmuring  natural  music 
in  the  enchanted  ear.  Even  the  voluptuous  Moore 
is  said  to  have  repaired  his  fame  and  prolonged  his 
days  by  settling  down  into,  the  sobrieties  of  domestic 
life. 

To  return  to  Byron.     He  might  be  said  to  be  unfor 
tunate  in  his  cradle.     His  young  days  were  brought 


262  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

under  sinister  influences  and  associations.  The  youth 
that  is  deprived  of  a  healthy  maternal  guardianship,  is 
to  be  pitied.  Such  was  Byron's  lot.  Alternately  in 
dulged  and  abused,  petted  and  irritated,  his  temper 
was  formed  in  a  bad  mold.  Never  could  he  forget  the 
feeling  of  horror  and  humiliation  that  came  over  him 
when  his  mother,  in  one  of  her  fits  of  passion,  called 
him  a  "  lame  brat." 

Now,  as  men  of  genius,  being  by  a  law  of  genius 
itself  susceptible  to  strong  impressions,  are  in  the  habit 
of  reproducing  those  impressions  in  their  works,  a  man 
of  a  sensitive  poetic  temperament,  like  Byron,  and  one 
so  highly,  so  dangerously  endowed  with  intellect,  and 
a  vigorous  power  of  expression,  would  give  to  all  these 
thoughts  and  associations  a  local  habitation,  a  living 
permanence  in  poetry,  romance,  and  even  in  history,  so 
far  as  it  could  be  turned  to  such  a  purpose.  In  his 
"  Deformed  Transformed"  Bertha  says  :  "  Out,  hunch 
back  !"  Poor  Arnold  replies  :  "  I  was  born  so,  moth 
er  !"  If,  then,  we  find  the  traits  of  misanthropy,  scorn, 
hate,  revenge,  and  others  of  the  serpent  brood,  so  often 
obtruding  themselves  in  his  poetry  as  to  compel  us  to 
believe  they  were  combined  with  the  very  texture  of 
his  thoughts  and  the  action  of  his  imagination,  impart 
ing  to  it  a  somber  and  menacing  aspect,  we  must  refer 
much  of  this  melancholy  idiosyncracy  to  his  early  edu 
cation.  He  was  always  grieving  over  the  malformation 
of  his  foot.  Far  more  lamentable  was  the  malforma 
tion  of  his  mental  habits.  .  But  this,  unlike  the  other, 
could  be  corrected.  He  should  have  exerted  himself 
to  achieve  so  noble  a  victory.  Instead  of  this  he  re 
signed  himself  to  the  strength  of  the  downward  current, 


THE  GENIUS  OF  BYRON.  263 

and  was  finally  dashed  among  the  rocks,  where  other 
stranded  wrecks  uttered  their  warning  voice  in  vain. 
There  did  he  take  up  the  affecting  lamentation  : 

"  The  thorns  which  I  have  reaped  are  of  the  tree 
I  planted — they  have  torn  me,  and  I  bleed. 
I  should  have  known  what  fruit  would  spring  from  such  a  seed." 

Goethe  said  of  him,  that  he  was  inspired  with  the 
genius  of  Pain.  The  joyous,  cheerful  spirit  that  per 
vades  the  works  of  men  who,  like  Scott  and  Southey, 
were  educated  under  auspicious  influences,  and  by  a 
healthy  process  grew  up  to  manhood  with  an  habitual 
regard  to  the  sacred  sanctions  annexed  to  their  physical 
and  moral  being,  contrasts  strongly  with  the  morbid, 
gloomy,  and  often  bitter  and  sarcastic  temper  of  that 
poetry,  which  seems  to  flow  as  if  from  some  poisoned 
fountain  of  Helicon.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  forgets  his 
fancied  wrongs  and  real  woes,  as  when  walking  amid 
the  ruins  of  imperial  Rome,  and  kindred  contiguities, 
he  throw's  himself  back  into  the  very  bosom  of  classic 
antiquity,  and  pours  out  the  purest  strains  of  eloquence, 
enriched  with  the  glowing  sunlight  of  poetry.  For  a 
time  the  shadow  of  the  evil  spirit  appears  to  depart 
from  him,  and  the  true  glory  of  his  genius  shines  forth 
without  a  cloud,  while  the  sentiments  that  rise  in  his 
soul  ascend  to  a  pitch  of  moral  sublimity  beyond  which 
the  ambition  of  the  human  imagination  could  not  desire 
to  go.  In  the  Fourth  Canto  of  "  Childe  Harold"  his 
power  of  conception  and  expression  culminated,  and 
the  publication  of  that  poem  called  forth  a  judgment  of 
the  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  the  Bench  of  Literature, 
Francis  Jeffrey,  which  almost  deserves  a  coequal  im- 


264:  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


mortality  with  the  poem  itself,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
account  for  this  splendid  piece  of  criticism  being  left 
out  of  the  recent  collection  of  the  elegant  critic  and  es 
sayist,  except  on  the  supposition  that  the  most  accom 
plished  judges  of  other  men's  works  are  sometimes  in 
competent  to  fix  the  right  estimate  of  their  own.  Ge 
nius  does  not  always  accurately  weigh  its  own  produc 
tions,  since  Milton  preferred  his  "  Paradise  Regained" 
to  his  "  Paradise  Lost,"  and  Byron  himself  was  invet- 
erately  attached  to  a  poem,  or  rather  a  translation,  to 
restrain  him  from  publishing  which  cost  the  strongest 
efforts  of  his  most  influential  friends. 

He  was  then  a  voluntary  exile  from  his  native  land, 
that  noble  England,  which  should  be  dear  to  all  great 
men,  because  the  mother  of  so  many ;  he  was  nursing 
many  fictitious  sorrows  ;  affecting  a  scorn  for  his  coun 
try  he  could  not  feel ;  defying  the  judgments  of  men  to 
which  he  was  painfully  sensitive ;  mourning  over  the 
blasted  blossoms  of  domestic  happiness  ;  seeking  new 
sources  of  gratification,  or  old  gratifications  in  new 
forms :  in  the  midst  of  all  he  plunges  into  the  arcana 
of  classic  lore ;  he  dives  into  the  crystal  depths  of  clas 
sic  antiquity,  to  draw  forth  beautiful  gems,  dripping 
with  the  sparkling  element,  untainted  by  its  passage 
through  centuries  of  time.  He  reconstructs  the  whole 
scene  to  our  view,  mingling  his  illustrations  from  those 
severer  arts  with  the  sweet  and  graceful  touches  of  a 
pencil  that  seems  capable  of  catching  and  delineating 
every  form  of  beauty  that  can  engage  the  fancy  or 
awaken  the  imagination.  We  have  been  filled  with  ad 
miration,  we  have  been  fired  with  enthusiasm,  at  some 
of  these  magnificent  strains  of  poetry,  noble  ideas,  burn- 


THE  GENIUS  OF  BYRON.  265 

ing  thoughts,  assuming  precisely  the  dress,  the  costume, 
which  best  became  them.  Whether  the  poet  takes  us 
along  the  bank  of  some  classic  stream,  places  us  before 
some  romantic  city,  flies  over  the  battle-field,  luxuriates 
in  a  moonlight  scene,  lingers  amid  broken  columns  and 
bubbling  fountains,  gazes  on  the  splendid  remnant  of 
statues  that  almost  seem  instinct  with  the  breath  of 
life,  conducts  us  to  the  roaring  of  the  cataract,  across 
whose  dread  chasm,  "  the  hell  of  waters,"  is  arched  here 
and  there  the  lovely  Iris,  with  her  seven-fold  dyes, 
"  like  Hope  upon  a  death-bed,"  then  upward  passes  and 
beholds  the  solemn  mountains,  the  Alps  or  Apennines, 
scenes  of  heroic  daring  and  suffering ;  contemplates  the 
mighty  ocean,  "  dark,  heaving,  boundless,  endless,  and 
sublime,  the  image  of  eternity,"  over  whose  bosom  ten 
thousand  fleets  have  swept  and  left  no  mark ;  finally, 
if  he  leads  us  back  to  the  Eternal  City,  not  as  in  her 
pride  of  place  and  power,  but  as  oppressed  with  the 
"  double  night  of  ages,"  as  the  "  Niobe  of  nations,"  the 
"  lone  mother  of  dead  empires,"  sitting  in  solitude,  "  an 
empty  urn  within  her  withered  hands,"  and  draws 
mighty  lessons  from  all  these  objects,  in  all  this  we  be 
hold  the  splendor  of  true  genius ;  we  feel  its  power ;  we 
wonder  at  the  gifts  of  God  thus  bestowed  ;  we  tremble 
at  the  responsibility  of  the  man  thus  rarely  endowed  by 
his  Creator.  That  regal  imagination,  disdaining  at 
times  the  vulgarities  to  which  a  depraved  heart  would 
subject  it,  asserts  its  native  dignity,  and  as  it  ranges 
among  more  quiet  scenes  utters,  with  the  solemnity  of 
a  prophet,  such  a  lesson  as  this : 

"  If  from  society  we  learn  to  live, 

'Tis  solitude  should  teach  us  how  to  die. 

12 


266  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

It  hath  no  flatterers  ;  vanity  can  give 

No  hollow  aid ;  aloue,  man  with  his  God  must  strive." 

Besides  that  ORIGINALITY,  which  is  a  distinguishing 
attribute  of  the  genius  of  Byron,  there  is  in  his  language 
a  power  of  concentration,  which  adds  greatly  to  its  vigor ; 
some  condensing  process  of  thought  is  going  on,  the  re 
sult  of  which  is  much  meaning  in  few  words,  and  those 
words  kept  under  the  law  of  fitness  with  more  than  mil 
itary  precision,  yet  without  constraint.  Few  feeble 
words  or  straggling  lines  disfigure  his  poetry.  That  in 
famous  effusion  of  a  putrid  mind,  "Don  Juan,"  has 
most  of  them,  while  it  has  also  some  delicate  gems  of 
beauty.  As  the  last  offspring  of  a  teeming  intellect,  it 
evidences  a  progress  in  sensual  depravity,  and  an  effront 
ery  in  publishing  it  to  the  world,  seldom  adventured  by 
the  most  reckless  contemner  of  the  opinions  of  his  fellow- 
men,  or  the  most  impious  blasphemer  of  the  majesty  of 
God.  Indeed,  his  moral  sense  must  have  reached  that 
region  said  to  be  inhabited  by  demons,  who  "  impair 
the  strength  of  better  thoughts," 

"  Making  the  sun  like  blood,  the  earth  a  tomb, 
The  tomb  a  hell,  and  hell  itself  a  murkier  gloom.' 

It  was  of  this  last,  deeply  characteristic  work,  that 
Blackwood's  Magazine  said,  at  the  time  :  "  In  its  com 
position  there  is  unquestionably  a  more  thorough  and 
intense  infusion  of  genius  and  vice,  power  and  profli 
gacy,  than  in  any  poem  which  has  ever  been  written 
in  the  English,  or  indeed  in  any  other  modern  lan 
guage."  No  poem,  perhaps,  ever  exhibited  a  more  re 
markable  mixture  of  ease,  strength,  fluency,  gayety, 


THE   GENIUS    OF   BYRON.  267 

mock-seriousness,  and  even  refined  tenderness  of  senti 
ment,  along  with  coarse  indecency.  Love,  honor,  purity, 
patriotism,  chastity,  religion,  are  all  set  forth  or  set  at 
naught,  just  as  suits  the  present,  vagrant  fancy  of  the 
author.  The  Edinburgh  Eeview  justly  said :  "  "We  are 
acquainted  with  no  writings  so  well  calculated  to  ex 
tinguish  in  young  minds  all  generous  enthusiasm  and 
gentle  affection,  all  respect  for  themselves,  and  all  love 
for  their  kind ;  to  make  them  practice  and  profess  hard 
ly  what  it  teaches  them  to  suspect  in  others,  and  actu 
ally  to  persuade  them  that  it  is  wise,  and  manly,  and 
knowing  to  laugh,  not  only  at  self-denial  and  restraint, 
but  at  all  aspiring  ambition,  and  all  warm  and  con 
stant  affection. " 

The  opinion  of  admiring  and  impartial  critics,  indeed, 
was,  that  the  tendency  of  his  writings  was  to  destroy 
all  belief  in  the  reality  of  virtue,  to  make  constancy  of 
devotion  ridiculous  ;  not  so  much  by  direct  maxims  and 
examples  of  an  imposing  or  seducing  kind,  as  by  the 
habitual  exhibition  of  the  most  profligate  heartlessness 
in  the  persons  who  had  been  represented  as  actuated  by 
the  purest  and  most  exalted  emotions,  and  in  the  les 
sons  of  that  same  teacher  who,  a  moment  before,  was  so 
pathetic  and  eloquent  in  the  expression  of  the  loftiest 
conceptions. 

How  nobly  different  was  Burns,  the  peer  of  Byron  in 
genius — analogous  to  him,  as  well  in  the  strength  of 
passion  as  in  the  beauty  of  imagination ;  attracted,  like 
him,  by  the  Circean  cup,  absorbed  at  times  in  his  con 
vivialities,  but  never  jesting  with  virtue,  jeering  at  re 
ligion,  or  scorning  the  recollections  of  a  pious  home  and 
a  praying  father.  They  rose  by  the  force  of  their  ge- 


GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


nius — they  fell  by  the  strength  of  their  passions ;  but 
the  fall  of  the  one  was  only  a  repetition  of  the  lapses  of 
apostate  humanity — guilty,  indeed,  but  profoundly  self- 
lamented,  often  expiated  in  tears  wept  on  the  bosom  of 
domestic  affection.  The  fall  of  the  other  was  like  that 
of  the  archangel  ruined,  defying  Omnipotence,  even 
when  rolling  in  agony  on  a  sea  of  fire.  Even  when 
feeding  his  fancy  and  invigorating  his  imagination  amid 
the  rural  charms  and  sublimities  of  Switzerland,  Byron 
thus  writes  in  his  journal :  "  I  am  a  lover  of  nature  and 
an  admirer  of  beauty.  I  can  bear  fatigue  and  welcome 
privation,  and  have  seen  some  of  the  noblest  views  in 
the  world.  But  in  all  this,  the  recollection  of  bitter 
ness,  and  more  especially  of  more  recent  and  more 
home  desolation,  which  must  accompany  me  through 
life,  have  preyed  upon  me  here ;  and  neither  the  music 
of  the  shepherd,  the  crashing  of  the  avalanche,  nor  the 
torrent,  the  mountain,  the  glacier,  the  forest,  nor  the 
cloud,  have  for  one  moment  lightened  the  weight  upon 
my  heart,  nor  enabled  me  to  lose  my  own  wretched 
identity  in  the  majesty,  and  the  power,  and  the  glory 
around,  above,  and  beneath  me."  Or,  as  expressed  m 
another  form : 

•  I  have  thought 


Too  long  and  darkly,  till  my  brain  became, 
In  its  own  eddy,  boiling  and  o'erwrought — 
A  whirling  gulf  of  fantasy  and  flame.1' 

Why  all  this  ?  A  part  of  the  secret  is  disclosed  by 
himself,  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  Dallas :  "  My  whole 
life  has  been  at  variance  with  propriety,  not  to  say  de 
cency.  *  *  *  My  friends  are  dead  or  estranged, 


THE   GENIUS   OF   BYRON. 


and  my  existence  a  dreary  void."  It  had  not  been  so, 
had  passion  been  held  in  check  by  principle,  instead  of 
principle  being  subjected  to  passion.  There  is,  indeed, 
too  much  reason  to  believe  the  truth,  that  in  connection 
with  great  versatility  of  powers,  there  is  too  often  found 
a  tendency  to  versatility  of  principle.  So  the  unprinci 
pled  Chatterton  said  :  "  he  held  that  man  in  contempt 
who  could  not  write  on  both  sides  of  a  question."  By 
ron  delights  in  sketching  the  most  odd  and  opposite 
sorts  and  styles  of  pictures,  and  in  abruptly  bringing 
into  rude  collision  the  most  opposite  principles,  as  if  he 
would  amuse  himself  with  the  shock  while  he  distresses 
the  sensibilities  of  others.  His  powers  were  mighty, 
various,  beautiful ;  but  they  needed  adjustment.  There 
was  no  regular  balance-wheel  in  his  intellectual  and 
moral  system.  In  another,  or  more  painful  sense,  than 
the  pensive  and  drooping  genius  of  Cowper  expressed 
it,  might  Byron  say  : 

"  The  howling  blasts  drive  devious,  tempest-tossed, 
Sails  ripped,  seams  opening  wide,  and  compass  lost. 
And  day  by  day  some  current's  thwarting  force 
Sets  me  more  distant  from  a  prosperous  course." 

His  refined  and  exquisite  sense  of  the  beautiful  in 
poesy  could  not  be  surpassed.  His  pictures  of  mortal 
loveliness  are  quite  inimitable,  and  there  is  at  times  in 
the  strains  of  his  muse,  in  the  very  structure  of  his  lan 
guage,  a  tenderness,  which  it  would,  seem  impossible 
could  coexist  with  that  severity  so  often,  so  naturally 
sharpening  into  sarcasm,  as  if  it  were  a  part  of  the  sta 
ple  of  his  mind.  The  lash  of  criticism  having  first 
roused  up  the  dormant  energies  of  his  genius,  his  first 


270  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

impulse  was  to  seize  the  sharpest  weapons  of  satire  he 
could  find,  and  even  the  poisoned  arrows  of  vitupera 
tion  and  slander,  and  with  a  power  and  precision  of 
archery  seldom  surpassed,  to  take  his  full  measure  of 
retaliation.  Nay,  he  became  so  fond  of  the  sport,  or  so 
unable  otherwise  to  satisfy  his  revenge,  that  he  multi 
plied  innocent  victims,  assailing  his  own  relations,  and 
even  the  noble,  generous,  genial  Scott,  whose  maxim  it 
was  never  to  provoke  or  be  provoked,  especially  in  his 
intercourse  with  the  irritable  tribe  of  authors.  Firmly 
and  calmly  Scott  resolved  to  receive  the  fire  of  all  sorts 
of  assailants,  who  were  engaged  in  the  "  roving  warfare 
of  satire,  parody,  and  sarcasm."  This  sudden,  bellicose 
production  of  Byron's  impulsive  genius — "English 
Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers" — cost  even  him  shame 
and  sorrow  the  rest  of  his  life.  But  still  he  was  ever 
fond  of  sailing  on  that  quarter.  His  impulses  must 
ever  be  of  the  fiery,  fitful  kind.  It  is  a  wonder  that, 
among  all  his  paradoxes  and  peregrinations,  he  did  not 
pay  a  visit  to  the  Dead  Sea.  That  would  have  been  a 
congenial  pilgrimage  for  Childe  Harold ;  and,  then,  for 
such  a  drake  as  he  was  to  swim  in  its  waters !  The  ex 
ploit  of  Leander  was  only  repeated  by  him  from  Sestus 
to  Abydos.  The  other  would  have  been  an  original 
feat,  worthy  of  the  taste  of  a  man  who  preferred  drink 
ing  out  of  a  skull  to  the  usual  mode  of  potation  out  of 
the  ordinary  goblets  of  civilization. 

Severe,  scornful,  passionate,  vengeful,  as  he  often 
was,  how  do  those  stern  features  relax,  and  the  milder 
sensibilities  rise  into  tender  exercise,  when,  as  a  father 
in  exile,  he  writes  : 


THE   GENIUS   OP   BYKON.  271 

"  My  daughter !  with  thy  name  this  song  begun, 

My  daughter !  with  thy  name  thus  much  shall  end 
I  see  thee  not — I  hear  thee  not — but  none 

Can  be  so  wrapt  in  thee ;  thou  art  the  friend 
To  whom  the  shadows  of  far  years  extend ; 

Albeit  my  brow  thou  never  shouldst  behold, 
My  voice  shall  with  thy  future  visions  blend, 

And  reach  into  thy  heart — when  mine  is  cold, 
A  token  and  a  tone,  even  from  thy  father's  mold." 

Thus,  with  a  certain  style  of  uniformity  everywhere 
observable,  especially  in  his  characters,  there  is  much 
variety  of  thought,  emotion,  and  passion,  evidential  of 
great  fertility  of  mind.  If  he  does  reproduce  the  same 
hero  under  different  names,  and  even  give  strong  indi 
cations  of  his  identification  with  himself,  still  the  wand 
of  the  enchanter  invests  him  with  so  many  brilliant  as 
pects,  places  him  in  so  many  imposing  attitudes,  as  to 
produce  all  the  effect  of  novelty.  His  muse  less  delights 
in  planning  incidents  and  grouping  characters,  than  in 
working  out,  as  with  the  sculptor's  energetic  art,  single, 
stern,  striking  models  of  heroic  humanity,  albeit  stained 
with  dangerous  vices.  His  very  genius  has  been  de 
clared  to  be  inspired  with  the  classic  enthusiasm  that 
has  produced  some  of  the  most  splendid  specimens  of 
the  chisel :  "  his  heroes  stand  alone,  as  upon  marble 
pedestals,  displaying  the  naked  power  of  passion,  or  the 
wrapped-up  and  reposing  energy  of  grief."  Medora, 
Gulnare,  Lara,  Manfred,  Childe  Harold,  might  each 
furnish  an  original  from  which  the  sculptor  could  exe 
cute  copies,  that  would  stand  the  proud  impressive  sym 
bols  of  manliness  or  of  loveliness,  satisfying  even  those 
intense  dreams  of  beauty  which  poets  and  lovers  some 
times  indulge  in  their  solitary  musings. 


272  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


"  There,  too,  the  goddess  loves  in  stone,  and  fills 
The  air  around  -with  beauty  ;  we  inhale 
The  ambrosial  aspect,  -which,  beheld,  instils 
Part  of  its  immortality." 

CHILDE  HAROLD. 

This  poem,  indeed,  is  a  perfect  gallery  of  art,  whose 
paintings  and  statues  are  drawn  and  fashioned  from 
the  life,  with  the  skill  of  a  consummate  master,  and  the 
facility  of  a  powerful,  creative,  divinely  endowed  genius. 
He  places  his  hand  on  the  broad  canvas  of  life,  and  be 
hold  the  figures  that  rise  under  his  magic  pencil !  They 
are,  indeed,  too  often  dark,  stern,  mysterious,  and  aw 
ful,  stained  with  vices,  and  pre-doomed,  for  their  guilt, 
to  the  pains  of  a  terrible  reprobation.  With  such  char 
acters  the  genius  of  Byron  had  a  strange  sympathy. 
Hence  his  admiration  of  that  historical  passage  in  the 
Scriptures,  in  which  the  crime  and  the  doom  of  Saul  is 
so  solemnly  set  forth  at  the  tomb  of  the  prophet  Sam 
uel,  whose  sepulchral  slumbers  were  so  rudely  disturbed 
by  the  intrusion  of  the  anxious  and  distressed  monarch, 
now  forsaken  by  his  God.  Shakspeare,  having  finished 
off  one  of  these  dark  and  repulsive  pictures,  as  in  his 
Macbeth  or  Lear,  passes  to  the  sketching  of  more  cheerful 
and  even  humorous  portraits  ;  but  Byron,  for  the  most, 
part,  delights  to  dwell  in  darkness.  Thus,  in  this  poem, 
when  the  curse  is  imprecated,  the  time  is  midnight, 
the  scene  the  ruined  site  of  the  temple  of  the  Furies, 
the  auditors  the  ghosts  of  departed  years,  the  imprecator 
a  spirit  fallen  from  an  unwonted  height  of  glory  to  the 
depths  of  woe.  Principals  and  accessories  assume  the 
somber  coloring  of  his  imagination,  from  which,  how- 
over,  at  times,  shoots  a  gleam  of  beauty  that  imparts 


THE  GENIUS  OF  BYKON.  273 

loveliness  to  the  whole  scene.  Milton,  with  his  almost 
perfect  sense  of  beauty,  and  the  fitness  of  things,  would 
never  have  put  such  words  as  these  in  the  mouth  of  his 
Eve: 

"  May  the  grass  wither  from  thy  foot !  the  woods 
Deny  thee  shelter — earth  a  home — the  dust 
A  grave !  the  sun  his  light !  and  heaven  her  God !" 

CAIN. 

It  was  quite  suitable  for  Byron  to  talk  so  in  his 
"  Cain,"  but  he  has  not  unsettled  the  position  of  the 
world's  estimate  of  its  first  mother,  so  firmly  established 
by  Milton.  He  was,  at  the  time,  perhaps,  thinking  of 
himself  as  Cain,  and  of  his  own  mother  as  in  one  of  her 
imprecating  paroxysms.  Alas,  that  he  should  have 
gone  on  in  lawless  indulgence,  insulting,  both  in  poetry 
and  practice,  the  sanctity  of  domestic,  heaven-consti 
tuted,  earth-blessing  ties,  until,  after  an  abortive,  ill- 
directed  struggle  for  poor  Greece,  he  sunk  into  an  early 
grave  at  36  aet.,  the  very  meridian  of  life !  He  was 
never  satisfied  with  his  earthly  lot,  not  even  with  the 
rare  gifts  of  his  genius,  nor  with  the  achievements  it 
made.  He  professed  to  consider  a  poet,  no  matter 
what  his  eminence,  as  quite  a  secondary  character  to 
a  great  statesman  or  warrior.  Failing  .as  a  states 
man,  he  resolved  to  play  the  hero,  and  strike  for  the 
liberty  he  had  sung.  But  Fame  had  no  place  for 
him  in  this  part  of  her  temple.  "With  the  rest  of 
the  tuneful  tribe,  he  descends  to  the  judgment  of  pos 
terity  as  a  POET  ;  with  all  men  of  genius  above  the  mill 
ion,  as  more  deeply  responsible  than  they  to  the  author 
of  all  mercies  ;  with  all  men  whatever,  as  a  MOBAL  AND 
IMMORTAL  BEING,  accountable  at  the  tribunal  of  God. 

12* 


274  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 

Criticism  would  fail  in  any  attempt  to  estimate  the 
immense  influence  of  his  genius  and  writings  upon  the 
youthful  mind  and  morals  of  the  past  generation — an 
influence  to  be  augmented  in  a  geometrical  ratio  in  the 
future.  What  is  written  is  written,  constituting  a  por 
tion  of  the  active  influence  circulating  in  the  world — 
not  to  be  recalled,  not  to  be  extinguished,  but  to  move 
on  to  the  end  of  time,  and  finally  to  be  met  by  its 
originator,  where  all  illusions  will  vanish,  and  all  truth, 
justice,  and  purity  be  vindicated. 


XXXII, 
of 


THE  more  the  human  mind  contemplates  the  subject 
of  poetry,  the  more  deeply  is  it  impressed  with  the 
might  of  its  power  and  the  immensity  of  its  domain. 
Between  poetry  and  the  sister  arts  there  may  be  an 
occasional  comparison,  but  there  can  be  little  competi 
tion.  For  while  it  is  common  to  them  all  to  be  con 
versant  with  the  taste  and  the  imagination,  Poetry 
alone  lays  hold  of  the  whole  circle  of  the  mental  facul 
ties,  and  calls  them  each  into  its  appropriate  exercise. 
In  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  there  are  specimens  of  as 
sublime  reasoning  as  was  ever  addressed  to  the  human 
understanding,  while  the  instances  of  beautiful  imagery 
are  as  abundant  as  the  finest  imagination  ever  invented. 
The  Poet,  according  to  .  the  original  meaning  of  the 
word,  is  a  Creator  and  a  Combiner.  He  is  the  true 


THE    GENIUS    OF    YOUNG. 


architect  of  thought,  who  plans,  arranges,  constructs, 
adorns,  and  distributes  into  harmonious  proportions. 
He  "  builds  the  lofty  rhyme."  To  our  own  perception 
the  dignity  of  genius  never  appears  more  imposing, 
unless  we  except  those  instances  of  extraordinary  scien 
tific  ratiocination  and  invention,  which  have  bowed  the 
very  heavens  to  the  intellect  of  man,  and  laid  bare 
their  mighty  mechanism,  or  seized,  combined,  and  ap 
plied  the  elements  of  earth  in  such  ways  as  can  never 
cease  to  astonish  us,  however  familiar  we  may  become 
with  their  operations. 

Great  inventions  and  discoveries  are  counted  by  cen 
turies,  while  poets  of  some  kind  appear  from  genera 
tion  to  generation,  and  not  a  few  illustrious  ones  have, 
from  time  to  time,  adorned  the  world.  It  will  be  found, 
too,  that  the  most  natural  poets  have  been  the  most 
successful,  those  who  have  touched  the  active  chords 
of  emotion  which  the  hand  of  the  Creator  has  strung 
in  the  interior  of  man,  or  copied  with  a  faithful  pencil 
the  ever-varying  features  of  the  external  world.  Hu 
man  passions  are  so  strange  and  strong,  so  various  and 
vivid,  that  he  who  truly  deals  with  them  ;  he  who  in 
the  progress  of  his  imaginative  creations  departs  not 
from  the  principle  of  verisimilitude  as  concerning  the 
passions  of  the  human  soul,  can  never  fail  to  arrest  at 
tention,  and  secure  admiration.  Hence  the  perpetual 
triumphs  of  Shakspeare,  who  wrote  of  man,  to  man, 
and  for  man  to  the  end  of  time.  Those  rich  flowers  of 
his  fancy  were  but  incidentally  scattered  by  the  way. 
The  grand  march  of  his  mind  was  through  the  int«rior 
of  the  soul  of  man.  Other  poets  have  been  skillful  and 
powerful  in  the  delineation  of  particular  passions, 


276  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

whether  profound  or  impetuous,  tender  or  terrible,  gen 
tle  or  cruel.  Like  the  insect  which  spins  its  web  out 
of  its  own  bowels,  they  have  woven  together  threads 
that  have  been  painfully  drawn  out  of  their  own  hearts. 
Whatever  the  theme  they  have  chosen,  they  have  es 
sentially  described  or  illustrated  the  same  set  of  pas 
sions.  Whether  they  sang  in  the  major  or  minor  key, 
the  character  of  the  tunes  was  the  same.  BTEON  is 
always  reproducing  himself  with  his  train  of  fiery  pas 
sions,  his  pride,  misanthropy,  defiance  of  God  and 
man,  illicit  love,  vaulting  ambition,  self-torture,  and 
destructiveness  in  general,  relieved  ever  and  anon  by 
all  that  is  beautiful  in  creative  poesy.  MOOKE,  over 
whose  birth,  according  to  the  doctrines  of  astrology, 
the  planet  Venus  must  have  presided  in  solitary  beau 
ty,  is  forever  melting  away  in  the  passion  of  a  roman 
tic,  oriental  love,  while  his  lines  flow  like  the  music  of 
a  bird  that  just  opens  its  mouth  to  let  forth  strains  that 
seem  all  but  involuntary.  CAMPBELL,  amid  all  his  ele 
gant  conception  and  polished  execution,  constantly  be 
trays  his  love  of  liberty  and  hatred  of  despotism,  and 
is  never  satisfied,  until  by  some  single  creation,  like 
that  of  the  Ode,  he  can  give  vent  to  the  smoldering 
fires  of  patriotism  within  his  breast.  Those  spirit-stir 
ring  Odes  of  his,  if  they  do  not,  like  the  Pleasures  of 
Hope,  and  Gertrude  of  Wyoming,  prolong  the  pleasing 
enchantment  of  the  mind  in  the  perusal,  do  rouse  all 
that  is  excitable  in  our  bosoms.  They  are  as  perfect, 
as  polished,  as  expressive  as  those  beautiful  forms  of 
sta^iary,  which  have  conveyed  to  us  the  conceptions  of 
the  Grecian  mind,  while  in  animation  they  surpass 
them,  as  burning  woi-ds  surpass  the  cold  marble.  Cow- 


THE    GENIUS   OF   YOUNG. 


PEE  may  always  be  found  communing  with  the  sweet 
charities  of  domestic  life,  describing  the  most  obvious 
and  simple  features  of  external  nature,  or  marking  with 
his  gentle  satire  the  follies  of  society,  with  an  occa 
sional  strain  against  every  form  of  oppression.  The 
genius  of  THOMSON  spreads  itself  out  over  the  whole 
panorama  of  Nature,  giving  us  one  vast  and  varied 
picture,  the  colors  of  which  are  found  to  be  very  en 
during. 

Xow,  in  analyzing  these  and  similar  productions  of 
the  muse-inspired  mind,  or  of  genius  as  it  produces 
other  results,  whether  in  the  walks  of  painting,  sculp 
ture,  architecture,  or  the  drama,  nothing  strikes  us 
more  agreeably  than  the  element  of  likeness.  It  seems 
to  be  an  original  principle  of  our  nature  to  be  pleased 
with  resemblances.  The  accurate  painting  of  a  flower, 
a  shell,  or  even  a  vegetable  esculent — the  sculptured 
imitations  of  animals,  either  of  the  fierce  or  gentle 
class — the  pictorial  representation  of  the  homeliest 
scenes  of  peasant  life — the  poetic  delineations  of  life, 
even  in  poor  and  coarse  aspects,  as  in  the  pages  of 
Goldsmith,  Burns,  and  especially  Crabbe — the  dramat 
ic  imitation  of  the  actions  and  manners  of  men  and 
women  who  have  figured  on  the  real  stage  of  the  world, 
whether  in  comic  or  tragic  scenes — all  these  never  fail 
to  interest,  and  that  in  proportion  to  the  perfection  of 
the  resemblance.  But  this  is  only  one  element  of  pleas 
ure,  however  widely  diffused.  A  celebrated  critic, 
with  perhaps  too  strong  a  tendency  to  generalization, 
has  said :  "  The  chief  delight  of  poetry  consists,  not  so 
much  in  what  it  directly  supplies  to  the  imagination, 
as  in  what  it  enables  it  to  supply  to  itself;  not-  in 


278  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

warming  the  heart  by  its  passing  brightness,  but  en 
kindling  its  own  latent  store  of  light  and  heat ;  not  in 
hurrying  the  fancy  along  by  a  foreign  and  accidental 
impulse,  but  in  setting  it  in  motion  by  touching  its  in 
ternal  springs  and  principles  of  activity."  Then  this 
must  be  done  by  striking  a  note  to  which  the  heart's 
living  affections  will  instinctively  respond,  by  rousing 
one  of  a  large  family  of  kindred  impressions,  by  "  drop 
ping  the  rich  seed  of  fancy  upon  the  fertile  and  shel 
tered  places  of  the  imagination."  Hence  the  power  of 
what  may  be  called  reminiscent  poetry,  or  that  which 
leads  us  back  to  past  scenes,  or  in  the  fertility  and 
truth  of  its  imaginations,  so  describes  things  to  us  that 
we  instantly  recognize  their  likeness  to  what  we  have 
ourselves  experienced.  The  scenes  of  childhood  and 
youth — the  fireside  enjoyments — the  rural  walks — the 
sail  over  the  bosom  of  the  lake — the  mineralogical,  bo 
tanical,  piscatory,  and  venatory  excursions — the  wan 
derings  among  the  sweet  and  solemn  woodlands,  vocal 
with  the  music  of  the  heaven-taught  warblers — the  old 
school-house,  and  even  the  "old  oaken  bucket,"  in 
which  we  drew  the  sparkling  waters  from  the  deep 
fountain  below — all  these  are  animating  themes,  how 
ever  minute,  and  we  feel  a  kind  of  reverence  for  him 
who  can  reproduce  them  to  our  view. 

The  poetry  of  Young  is  not  without  its  tenderness. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise  when  the  spirit  of  affliction 
had  so  often  troubled  the  fountain  of  feeling  in  his 
heart  ?  The  reading  world  is  familiar  with  the  apos 
trophe  to  the  "  Insatiate  Archer,"  by  whom  the  peace 
of  the  poet  was  "  thrice  slain."  Hence  the  solemn  tone 
which  pervades  most  of  his  poetry.  He  seems  to  lux- 


THE  GENIUS  OF  YOUNG.  279 

uriate  in  a  kind  of  delicious  melancholy,  which  gives  a 
character  and  zest  to  the  productions  of  his  muse,  and 
awakens  our  sympathy  for  one  who  has  been  so  often 
placed  in  the  furnace  of  affliction.  His  imagination, 
unlike  that  of  Milton,  which  invites  the  light  of  hea 
ven's  day  into  his  soul,  rather  chooses  the  night  for  its 
creations,  and  solemnly  invokes 

"  Silence  and  Darkness  !  solemn  sisters,  twins 
From  ancient  Night,  who  nurse  the  tender  thought 
To  reason,  and  on  reason  build  Resolve, 
Assist  me  !     I  will  thank  you  in  the  grave." 

With  the  whole  strain  of  the  poet's  reflections,  what 
ever  be  the  theme,  the  solemnity  and  stillness  of  night 
seem  congenial.  Hence  there  is  a  profoundness  of 
contemplation,  a  seriousness  of  manner,  a  sublimity  of 
thought  and  devotion,  even  a  weight  of  instruction  in 
his  poems  which  deserve  the  highest  commendation. 
The  criticisms  of  Johnson  in  his  Lives  of  the  Poets,  on 
Edward  Young,  are  unworthy  the  author  and  the  sub 
ject.  Indeed,  either  from  indolence  or  indifference, 
Johnson  was  content  to  publish  a  meager  letter  from 
Herbert  Croft,  instead  of  writing  a  full  and  satisfactory 
memoir,  like  those  he  bestowed  on  Pope  and  Dryden ; 
a  letter  which  is  chiefly  taken  up  in  the  indulgence  of 
empty  speculations,  in  settling  trifling  dates,  or  narra 
ting  unimportant  circumstances,  without  the  slightest 
attempt  to  do  justice  to  this  lofty  genius,  or  to  investi 
gate  the  philosophy  of  his  poetry. 

Johnson  does,  indeed,  say  that  "  the  Universal  Pas 
sion  is  a  very  great  performance,"  and  bestows  positive, 
though  brief  praise  on  his  Night  Thoughts.  Here,  in- 


280  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


deed,  he  confesses  there  is  "  original  poetry,  variegated 
with  deep  reflections  and  striking  allusions,  a  wilder 
ness  of  thought,  in  which  the  fertility  of  fancy  scatters 
flowers  of  every  hue  and  every  odor."  The  style  and 
sentiment  of  the  Night  Thoughts  are  peculiarly  favor 
able  to  the  use  of  blank  verse,  so  that  the  poet  exhibits 
judgment  as  well  as  genius  in  the  composition  of  this 
work.  Amid  all  the  reverent  emotions  that  seem  to 
iill  his  soul,  there  is  a  boldness  of  thought,  and  a  free 
dom  of  utterance  which  demonstrates  that  the  flight  of 
that  genius  is  on  a  .strong  and  sustained  wing.  TIME, 
LIFE,  DEATH,  IMMORTALITY,  with  all  their  intrinsic  gran 
deur,  their  mighty  adjuncts,  and  vast  consequences, 
constitute  the  themes  on  which  he  dwells,  and  which 
kindle  the  "thoughts  that  breathe  and  words  that 
burn."  If  he  be  not  so  exact,  he  is  always  copious. 
If  there  be  lines  that  might  be  excepted  to,  or  amend 
ed,  there  is  great  power  in  the  work  as  a  whole ;  for  in 
this  "  there  is  a  magnificence  like  that  ascribed  to  a 
Chinese  plantation,  the  magnificence  of  vast  extent  and 
endless  diversity."  If  there  be  a  failure  in  any  portion 
of  his  works,  it  is  in  his  Last  Judgment.  Not  that  it 
does  not  breathe  the  spirit  of  genuine  poetry  in  its  con 
ception  ;  not  that  many  of  its  details  are  not  graphic, 
powerful,  and  striking,  but  that  it  is  a  subject  to  which 
neither  painter  nor  poet  can  justly  aspire.  Inspiration 
itself  barely  touches  it,  and  passes  on  to  things  more 
intelligible  to  man,  more  suitable  for  his  investigation. 
It  is  sparing  of  description,  and  Young  is  the  most  de 
scriptive  of  poets.  Things  gross,  visible,  tangible,  audi 
ble,  must  necessarily  be  dwelt  upon  to  set  forth  a 
purely  spiritual  process,  quite  different,  we  may  pre- 


THE   GENIUS   OF   YOUNG. 


sume,  from  any  thing  the  imagination  has  conceived, 
or  is  capable  of  conceiving.  The  idea  of  limbs  dang 
ling  in  the  air  in  pursuit  of  their  fellow  limbs  is  deeply 
incongruous,  and  would  be  ludicrous,  but  for  the  so 
lemnity  of  the  theme,  and  our  respect  for  the  intentions 
of  the  author.  So  the  comparing  the  assembling  of  the 
atoms  of  the  human  body  to  the  collection  of  bees  into  a 
swarm  at  the  tinkling  of  a  pan,  has  been  justly  censured 
by  critics.  Some  of  these  descriptions  present  extreme 
cases  of  that  rankuess  of  metaphor,  which  is  a  charac 
teristic  of  Young.  Still,  the  poet  is  there,  and  the 
preacher  is  there,  and  it  is  impossible  for  a  serious 
mind  to  study  these  strains  without  being  deeply  af 
fected  ;  as  it  would  seem  difficult  for  a  thoughtless 
mind  not  to  be  made  serious  by  the  same  study.  They 
proceed  from  a  devout  and  meditative  soul,  inclined  to 
turn  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life,  and  even  domestic  ar 
rangements,  to  a  good  account.  Young  had  an  alcove 
in  his  garden,  with  a  bench  so  well  painted  in  it  that 
at  a  distance  it  seemed  to  be  real,  but  upon  a  nearer  ap 
proach  the  illusion  was  perceived,  and  this  motto  ap 
peared  :  Invisibilia  non  decipiunt.  The  things  iinseen 
do  not  deceive  us.  Nor  was  he  destitute  of  wit,  for  oc 
casionally  he  indulged  in  an  epigram  keen  and  caustic, 
as  when  hearing  of  the  ridicule  the  infidel  Yoltaire  had 
cast  upon  Milton's  allegorical  personages  of  Death  and 
Sin,  he  extemporized  the  following: 

"  Thou  art  so  witty,  profligate,  and  thin, 
Thou  seem'st  a  Milton  with  his  Death  and  Sin !" 

Much  of  his  poetry  is,  in  fact,  seriously  epigrammat 
ic.      Strong,  figurative,  yet  sententious  and  striking, 


282  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

it  has  fastened  itself  with  a  firm  grasp  on  the  readers 
of  the  English  language ;  .and  while  Dryderi,  of  the  same 
century,  precedent  in  the  race  of  fame,  and  Swift 
nearly  contemporaneous  in  birth  with  Young,  are  com 
paratively  neglected,  except  by  scholars,  Young  main 
tains  his  place  among  the  living  classics  of  the  lan 
guage,  read,  meditated,  and  admired.  The  truth  is, 
that  with  all  his  turgescence  and  want  of  that  simpli 
city  which  is  the  charm  of  some  writers,  he  strikes 
deep  into  the  soul  of  his  fellow-man,  and  we  find,  in 
fact,  that  what  seems  to  be  turgid  is  an  element  in  his 
composition,  which,  like  the  leaven  that  swells  the 
staff  of  life,  is  making  the  food  he  presents  us  light, 
palatable,  and  suitable  for  the  nourishment  of  our  moral 
nature. 

Swift  observed  that  if  Young  in  his  Satires  had  been 
more  gay,  or  more  severe,  they  would  have  been  more 
pleasing,  because  mankind  are  more  inclined  to  be 
pleased  with  ill-nature  and  mirth,  than  with  solid  sense 
and  instruction.  This  may  be  true,  but  he  would  no 
longer  have  been  Young.  Doubtless,  there  is  a  class 
of  readers  who  would  rather  feast  on  the  failings  and 
follies  of  others  than  be  delighted  with  their  virtues. 
Such  would  be  more  gratified  with  the  scorn  and  the 
venom  of  Byron's  muse,  than  the  gentle  inspirations  of 
Cowper,  or  the  serious  strains  of  Young.  But  the  fame 
founded  on  such  a  basis  is  evanescent.  Doubtless,  the 
shade  of  that  proud  peer  of  the  realm  of  poesy  would 
gladly  exchange  all  its  earthly  honors  and  posthumous 
fame  for  the  consciousness  in  the  world  of  retribution 
of  never  having  written  a  line  to  impair  the  sense  of 
virtue,  or  to  invest  vice  with  such  enchantments  as 


THE  GENIUS  OF  YOUNG.  283 

none  but  such  a  poet  is  capable  of  creating.  Far  dif 
ferent  must  be  the  feelings  of  him,  who,  while  he  held 
the  pen  of  composition  in  his  hand,  felt  the  weight  of 
responsibility  at  his  heart,  and  sent  forth  to  an  admir 
ing  world  "no  line  which  dying  he  would  wish  to 
blot,"  no  sentiment  which,  in  the  land  of  retribution, 
he  would  wish  to  recall.  It  were  preferable  even  to  be 
subjected  to  the  charge  of  being  gloomy,  were  the 
heart  made  better  by  that  sadness,  than  to  jest  at  sa 
cred  things,  and  deride  the  hopes  founded  upon  the 
sublime  revelation  from  God  to  man. 

The  contrasts  of  Young  constitute  one  secret  of  his 
impressive  power.  Thus : 

"  How  poor,  how  rich,  how  abject,  how  august, 
How  complicate,  how  wonderful  is  man ! 
*  *  *  *  * 

An  heir  of  glory,  a  frail  child  of  dust, 
Helpless  immortal,  insect  infinite, 
A  worm,  a  god. — I  tremble  at  myself!" 

No  man  can  attain  to  the  true  dignity  of  his  nature 
without  a  long  and  patient  introversion  of  the  observ 
ing  faculties.  If  "the  proper  study  of  mankind  is 
man,"  the  greatest  proficiency  is  attained  by  studying 
ourselves,  by  descending  into  the  interior  chambers  of 
the  soul,  and  observing  the  operation  of  its  complex 
machinery.  Nobly  does  Young  say, 

"  Man,  know  thyself,  all  wisdom  centers  there. 
To  none  man  seems  ignoble  but  to  man  !" 

If  Michael  has  fought  our  battles,  and  Kaphael  has 
sung  our  triumphs,  and  Gabriel  has  spread  his  wings 


284  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS 


from  distant  worlds  to  bring  messages  for  the  benefit 
of  man,  why  should  he  live  so  far  below  his  dignity  ? 

Young  followed  in  the  track  of  Milton,  when  he 
taught  us  to  believe  more  firmly  in  the  proximity  of 
celestial  spirits  to  the  dwellings  of  humanity.  In  yield 
ing  our  faith  to  such  a  theory,  we  are  not  merely  led 
along  by  a  poet's  fancy,  we  are  warranted  by  the  au 
thority  of  the  inspired  oracles  themselves,  which  speak 
of  the  angels  as  "  ministering  spirits  sent  forth  to  min 
ister  to  them  who  shall  be  heirs  of  salvation."  A  beau 
tiful  idea  is  that  of  the  secret  interlinking  of  those 
heavenly  ones  with  us  poor  visible  pilgrims  of  earth. 
How  often,  when  fainting  in  the  wilderness,  like  the 
poor  Egyptian  mother,  has  the  angel  of  hope  appeared 
to  revive  our  spirits,  and  point  to  some  grateful  fount 
ain  in  the  desert,  unseen  by  us,  because  our  eyes  were 
dimmed  with  tears !  And  so,  under  the  same  kind 
Providence,  we  are  taught  that  friendship  is  something 
more  than  "  a  name." 

"  Heaven  gives  U9  friends  to  bless  the  present  scene 
Resumes  them  to  prepare  us  for  the  next. 
All  evils  natural  are  moral  goods, 
All  discipline  indulgence,  on  the  'whole." 

There  is,  in  fact,  in  the  poems  of  Young  a  mass  of 
true  philosophy,  which,  were  it  but  drawn  out  in  scho 
lastic  form,  would  constitute  quite  a  volume  of  sound 
instruction  on  good  ethical  principles.  The  purity  of 
his  productions  is  most  exemplary,  considering  the 
license  indulged  by  his  contemporaries,  and  the  fact 
that  the  age  of  Anne  had  by  no  means  freed  itself  from 
the  pestiferous  influence  of  the  age  of  Charles  II.,  the 


THE  GENIUS  OF  YOUNG.  285 

royal  debauchee,  who  enthroned  vice  in  his  court,  while 
he  banished  virtue  to  seek  a  refuge  among  the  despised 
Puritans.  Dryden  himself  sometimes  dabbled  in  pol 
lution,  nor  was  Swift  altogether  free  from  the  charge 
of  pandering  to  the  baser  passions  of  the  human  heart. 
But  the  most  bitter  enemy  of  Young  could  never  bring 
such  an  accusation  against  him. 

How  much  domestic  experiences — in  fact,  the  gene 
ral  fortunes  of  a  man's  life  have  to  do  with  shaping 
and  coloring  his  works  as  an  author,  it  is  not  neces 
sary  to  discuss.  The  connection  is  as  important  as  it 
is  undoubted.  Of  this  the  history  of  authors  is  an 
abundant  proof.  In  his  preface  to  "  The  Complaint," 
Young  says  that  "  the  occasion  of  the  poem  is  real,  not 
fictitious,  and  the  facts  mentioned  did  naturally  pour 
these  moral  reflections  on  the  thought  of  the  writer." 

Much  of  the  character  and  achievements  of  the  ex 
ecutive  portion  of  our  race  depend  on  the  interior  dis 
cipline  of  the  mind,  not  alone  the  intellectual,  but  the 
moral  discipline  to  which  men  are  subjected.  The 
true  heroes  in  every  department  of  exalted  action  have 
been  thus  tried  in  the  crucible.  Such  names  as  have 
been  given  to  a  deathless  fame  will  immediately  sug 
gest  a  train  of  trials,  the  history  of  which  has  been  dis 
closed  to  the  world.  How  great  a  portion  has  been 
endured  in  secret,  we  can  only  conjecture.  Take  two 
great  names  in  England's  literary  history,  MILTON  and 
SCOTT,  for  the  latter  was  a  thorough  English  loyalist, 
though  a  true  Scotchman.  What  burdens  these  men 

O 

carried  through  life !  On  genial  tempers  such  disci 
pline  has  the  happiest  effects.  On  the  sullen  and  mo 
rose  it  descends  like  water  on  the  rock.  Many  a  ten- 


286  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

der  thought,  many  a  touching  description  have  we 
from  the  author,  in  consequence  of  the  heart-crushing 
he  experienced  by  his  repeated  bereavements. 

Some  authors  have  a  peculiar  faculty  of  diluting  a 
sentiment,  until  its  spirit  and  vigor  have  almost  evap 
orated.  The  thought  may  be  original,  it  may  be  val 
uable,  but  they  spread  it  out  as  the  gold-beater  spreads 
gold-leaf,  until  it  becomes  all  but  impalpable.  Not  so 
with  Young.  There  will  be  found  in  his  works  a  great 
amount  of  bullion,  weighty  and  valuable.  Nor  is  he 
wanting  in  variety.  For  although,  as  his  poetry  falls 
upon  the  ear,  there  may  be  a  seeming  sameness  in  it, 
there  is,  in  fact,  in  the  staple  of  it  great  diversity  of 
thought,  as  well  as  richness  of  metaphor.  There  are 
poets  who  have  had  a  finer  ear  for  the  harmony  of 
numbers,  and  the  impressive  melody  of  well-chosen 
cadences,  but  who  are  deficient  in  that  sustained  vigor 
which  characterizes  Young. 

He  has  a  peculiar  versification,  so  much  his  own, 
that  it  would  be  recognized  by  the  ear  as  soon  as  the 
face  of  a  friend  by  the  eye,  on  the  repetition  of  a  half 
dozen  lines,  even  if  they  had  never  before  been  read. 
He  is  no  copyist,  except  from  the  book  of  nature  and 
the  heart  of  man.  "  He  seems  to  have  laid  up,"  says 
Johnson,  "  no  stores  of  thought  or  diction,  but  to  owe 
all  to  the  fortuitous  suggestions  of  the  present  moment. 
Yet  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  when  once  he  had 
formed  a  new  design,  he  then  labored  it  with  very  pa 
tient  industry,  and  that  he  composed  with  great  labor 
and  frequent  revisions.  His  verses  are  formed  by  no 
certain  model." 

His  antithesis,  which  is  perpetual,  is  not  the  polished 


THE    GENIUS    OF    YOUNG.  287 


and  carefully  balanced  antithesis  of  Pope,  but  of  Young, 
sudden,  striking,  weighty,  and  making  a  constant  de 
mand  on  exclamation  points.  Witness  this  bold  suc 
cession  of  lines : 

"  Is  it  in  words  to  paint  you,  oh,  ye  fallen  ? 
Fall'n  from  the  wings  of  reason  and  of  hope  ! 
Erect  in  stature,  prone  in  appetite  ! 
Patrons  of  pleasure,  posting  into  pain ! 
Lovers  of  argument,  averse  to  sense, 
Boasters  of  liberty,  fast  bound  in  chains ! 
Lords  of  the  wide  creation,  and  the  shame  ! 
More  senseless  than  the  irrationals  you  scorn, 
More  base  than  those  you  rule,  than  those  you  pity ! 
Deepest  in  woe  from  means  of  boundless  bliss ; 
Ye  cursed  by  blessings  infinite  !  because 
Most  highly  favored,  most  profoundly  lost ! 
Ye  motly  mass  of  contradiction  strong !" 

A  reader  who  should  travel  through  the  pages  of 
Young,  at  consecutive  sittings,  would  feel  that  an  over 
whelming  impression  was  made  upon  his  mind.  What 
it  would  definitely  and  distinctively  be,  it  might  be 
more  difficult  to  say  than  what  it  would  not  be.  It  is 
certain  the  sense  of  the  obligation  of  virtue  would  not 
be  relaxed,  the  consciousness  of  immortality  would  not 
be  enfeebled,  the  anticipations  of  the  retributive  period 
would  not  be  impaired,  nor  the  dignity  and  destiny 
of  man  be  diminished  in  their  apparent  importance. 

His  poetry  is  not  only  descriptive,  but  didactic,  and 
that  in  a  different  sense  from  the  didactics  of  Pope.  It 
is  a  serious  improvement  on  the  ethical  tone  of  that 
ambitious  poet,  for  it  reverently  draws  from  a  higher 
source  the  motives  for  obedience  to  the  lessons  it  in 
culcates. 


288  GLEANINGS   AND  GROUPINGS. 

"  In  all  his  works,"  says  Blair,  "  the  marks  of  strong 
genius  appear.  His  '  Universal  Passion'  possesses  the 
full  merit  of  that  animated  conciseness  of  style,  and 
lively  description  of  characters,  which  I  mentioned  as 
particularly  requisite  in  satirical  and  didactic  compo 
sitions.  Though  his  wit  may  often  be  thought  too 
sparkling,  and  his  sentences  too  pointed,  yet  the  viva 
city  is  so  great  as  to  entertain  every  reader.  In  the 
'Night  Thoughts,'  there  is  much  energy  of  expression; 
in  the  first  three  there  are  several  pathetic  passages, 
and  scattered  through  them  all  happy  images  and  allu 
sions,  as  well  as  pious  reflections  occur." 

If,  as  rhetoricians  have  pronounced,  description  be 
a  good  test  of  a  poetical  imagination,  distinguishing  an 
original  from  a  second-rate  genius,  a  creator  from  a 
copyist,  then  must  Young  claim  and  hold  a  high  rank 
in  the  tuneful  tribe.  In  him  we  have  exemplified  a 
poet  of  bold  conceptions  and  decided  originality  in  his 
chosen  style  of  composition,  with  an  imagination  in 
ventive  and  luxuriant  indeed,  if  not  "  all  compact,"  the 
very  exaggerations  of  which,  while  evidential  of  genius, 
aim  at  the  support  of  the  principles  of  virtue,  and  the 
extinction  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy ;  an  imagination 
which,  if  it  sometimes  does  violence  to  a  delicate  and 
fastidious  taste,  never  offends  our  moral  sense,  or  tinges 
with  a  blush  the  cheek  of  innocence. 

His  poetry  is  the  eifusion  of  a  mind  that  held  com 
munion  with  sacred  thoughts,  and  solemn  associations. 
In  some  parts  it  approaches  even  the  dignity  and  gran 
deur  of  the  epic ;  for  that  one  thought  which  was  en 
throned  in  the  mind  of  Milton — "  the  vindication  of 
the  ways  of  God  to  men" — seems  to  have  been  regnant 


THE   GENIUS    OF   SCOTT. 


also  in  that  of  Young,  and  thus  was  his  spirit  ever  kept 
in  awe  in  the  midst  of  a  crooked  and  perverse  genera 
tion,  having  little  of  the  fear  of  God  before  its  eyes. 
It  was  an  age  of  free-thinkers — men  who,  in  the  pleni 
tude  of  their  vanity,  boasted  in  that  self-bestowed 
name.  Young  demanded  of  them  to  "  look  on  truth 
unbroken  and  entire,"  on  truth  in  the  SYSTEM  OF  GOD. 

"  Parts,  like  half  sentences,  confound  ;  the  whole 
Conveys  the  sense,  and  God  is  understood, 
Who  not  in  fragments  writes  to  human  race ; 
Read  his  whole  volume,  skeptic  !  then  reply  ! 
This,  this  is  thinking  free,  a  thought  that  grasps 
Beyond  a  grain,  and  looks  beyond  an  hour." 

Let  the  reader  peruse  the  dozen  succeeding  lines 
in  Night  YIL,  The  Complaint,  and  he  will  be  struck 
with  their  power  and  sublimity.  If,  indeed,  my  criti 
cism  should  allure  him  to  the  perusal  or  reperusal  of 
the  whole  volume,  I  shall  not  have  written  in  vain. 


XXXIII, 
®he  (Senitis  of  Scott. 

IT  is  not  alone  the  literary  man,  the  student  of  history 
or  the  "  lover  of  fiction,"  that  is  interested  in  the  char 
acter  and  achievements  of  the  eminent  Scotchman,  who 
in  the  early  part  of  this  century  so  completely  filled  the 
trump  of  fame.  The  Christian  philosopher  and  moral 
ist  has  much  to  learn  from  the  study  of  his  genius  and 

13 


290  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

character.  The  man  who  could  by  the  enchantment  of 
the  pen  evoke  £15,000  a  year  from  the  human  pocket 
(that  most  reluctant  of  all  appendages  to  man)  must  be 
a  wizard  indeed.  But  the  man  who  could  do  this  with 
out  having  his  head  turned,  must  be  more  than  a  wiz 
ard.  "  A  most  composed,  invincible  man,"  said  Car- 
lyle,  "  in  difficulty  and  distress  having  no  discourage 
ment,  Samson-like,  carrying  off  on  his  strong  Samson 
shoulders  the  gates  that  would  imprison  him ;  in  dan 
ger  and  menace,  laughing  at  the  whisper  of  fear.  And 
then  with  such  a  sunny  current  of  true  humor  and  hu 
manity,  a  free,  joyful  sympathy  with  so  many  things  ; 
what  of  fire  he  had,  all  lying  so  beautifully  latent,  as 
radial,  latent  heat,  as  fruitful  internal  warmth  of  life ;  a 
most  robust,  healthy  man!"  And  thus  he  rings  the 
changes  upon  that  adjective  healthy,  applying  it  to 
Scott's  whole  nature,  intellectual,  moral,  and  physical, 
as  if  there  was  nothing  morbid  in  the  man,  not  even  in 
his  excessive  fondness  for  old  musty  ballads  and  un 
couth  border  rhymes,  or  in  his  excessive  aversion  to 
the  spiritual  in  religion  or  the  democratic  in  politics. 
Many  bold,  noble,  and  generous  traits,  however,  he  did 
possess.  And  whence  did  he  derive  them?  "Let 
Scott  thank  JOHN  KNOX,"  says  the  same  critic,  "  for  he 
owed  him  much,  little  as  he  dreamed  of  debt  in  that 
quarter !  No  Scotchman  of  his  time  was  more  thorough 
ly  Scotch  than  Walter  Scott ;  the  good  and  the  not  so 
good,  which  all  Scotchmen  inherit,  ran  through  every 
fiber  of  him."  He  was  not  merely  a  genius,  but  a  mul 
tiform  genius.  There  was  a  bewitching  variety  about 
him.  .The  whole  of  his  moral  being  was  built  on  a 
basis  of  good-nature,  which  scarcely  ever  forsook  him 


THE    GENIUS    OF   SCOTT.  291 

in  the  midst  of  his  greatest  perplexities  and  provoca 
tions.  He  was  a  clever,  companionable  youth.  Here 
was  his  danger,  and  though  he  calls  himself  a  "  deep 
drinker,"  like  Johnson,  who  said  of  himself  that  if  he 
drank  any,  he  must  drink  to  excess,  he  controlled 
himself  and  did  not  make  a  wreck  of  his  constitution, 
though  he  injured  its  giant  strength,  consolidated,  as  it 
was,  by  the  most  vigorous  exercise,  and  animated  and 
sustained,  as  it  was,  by  a  most  triumphant  spirit.  He 
was  a  poet  of  strong  and  discursive  imagination,  draw 
ing  his  materials  from  his  own  Scotland,  enamored  of 
the  rudest  scenery  and  the  roughest  chivalry  ;  delight 
ing  in  dog  scenes  and  battle  scenes  ;  loving  equally  the 
winding  of  the  hunter's  horn  and  the  notqs  of  the  mar 
tial  bugle,  yet  occasionally  stooping  to  admire  a  dew- 
drop  or  to  bless  a  flower.  He  was  a  prince  among  lit 
erary  men,  and  a  literary  man  among  princes  ;  an  ad 
mirer  of -royalty,  and  a  model  of  loyalty  ;  an  ally  of  the 
aristocracy,  and  an  enemy  to  democracy.  He  was  an 
historian,  though  a  hurried  and  somewhat  careless  one ; 
a  biographer,  most  pictorial  and  enchanting,  though  not 
always  correct ;  an  antiquarian,  fumbling  among  all 
musty  things ;  a  novelist,  creating  all  manner  of  scenic 
wonders ;  a  critic,  learned  in  the  formidable  science, 
and  sitting  in  solemn  judgment  on  the  perpetrators  of 
books,  though  always  "  leaning  to  the  side  of  mercy ;" 
for  he  was  a  kind  and  generous  friend  to  meritorious 
young  authors ;  he  was  a  farmer,  a  botanist,  arborist, 
and  horticulturist ;  an  odd  kind  of  amateur  architect, 
building  not  only  his  complicated  Abbotsford  home 
stead,  but  many  "  castles  in  the  air,"  if,  indeed,  that  was 
not  one  of  them ;  he  was  a  "  sleeping  partner"  in  great 


292  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 

book-selling  houses — palaces  where  regal  monarchs  in 
the  kingdom  of  literature  swayed  the  scepter,  yet  proba 
bly  slept  less  than  any  of  them — the  Cadells,  the  Bal- 
lantynes,  the  Murrays ;  for  his  wakeful  energies  were 
prodigious  ;  he  was  a  Tory  of  the  straitest  sect,  yet 
even  his  Toryism  did  not  seem  to  contract  the  natural 
amplitude  of  his  heart  or  to  shrivel  the  generous  sensi 
bilities  of  his  nature.  He  even  presumed  to  be  a  The 
ologian  and  to  write  sermons,  though  they  are  "no 
great  things."  Yet,  if  they  do  not  immortalize  him, 
they  indicate  the  versatility  of  his  genius.  He  wrote 
two  sermons  on  the  Atonement,  to  get  money  for  a  di 
vinity  student.  He  was  less  scrupulous  than  Robert 
Hall,  who,  when  tempted  with  a  thousand  guineas  for 
writing  out  some  of  his  manuscripts  for  the  press,  re 
plied  :  "  No,  no,  that  will  not  do ;  I  shall  always  be 
thinking  of  the  guineas  when  I  am  writing."  So  he 
declined.  Scott  was  at  times  profane,  not  only  by  what 
he  put  into  the  mouths  of  others,  but  by  what  he  wrote 
in  his  own  diary.  Strange  that  his  son-in-law,  Lock- 
hart,  if  he  could  not  see  the  deformity  which  is  thus  re 
flected  on  the  subject  of  his  biography,  should  not  have 
felt  some  decent  regard  for  the  taste  of  a  virtuous  com 
munity,  cis-Atlantic  or  trans-Atlantic,  and  for  the  dig 
nity  of  literature  itself.  The  truth  is,  his  notions  of 
morality  were  free  and  easy.  They  were  not  Scotch. 
He  kept  no  Scotch  Sabbath.  The  sanctity  of  domestic 
life  was,  however,  always  precious  to  him,  as  it  was  not 
to  his  profligate  contemporary,  Byron.  "  When  he  de 
parted,  he  took  a  man's  life  along  with  him."  He  be 
came  very  serious  when  he  approached  death,  and  de 
manded  that  the  Scriptures  be  read  to  him — nothing 


COWPER   AND   BYRON   CONTRASTED.  293 

else  would  do  then— that  only,  for  a  dying  man.  "  Lock- 
hart,"  he  said,  with  his  last  breath,  "  be  a  good  man,  be 
virtuous,  be  religious.  Nothing  else  will  give  you  any 
comfort  when  you  come  to  lie  here."  Kemember  this, 
all  ye  worshipers  of  literature. 


XXXIV, 


anfc  JJjirott  Contrasted. 

WHAT  a  strange  thing  is  poetry  !  What  a  mystery 
the  human  mind  !  What  a  paradox  the  inspiration  of 
genius  !  Could  two  such  men  belong  to  the  same 
kingdom  of  mind?  Was  the  imagination  the  same 
faculty  in  both  ?  Yes,  the  substratum  was  the  same  ;  — 
the  superstructure  how  different  !  Both  were  English 
men,  a  proud  name  to  bear  even  in  this  intellectual 
age,  for  the  shadow  of  England's  power  flies  over  the 
earth  ;  —  not  only  of  her  military  power,  her  vast  polit 
ical  influence,  and  her  scientific  fame,  but  her  poetry 
has  filled  the  world  with  its  impulses.  The  English 
muse  has  an  empire  of  her  own,  and  noble  ministers 
have  sustained  her  queenly  prerogative.  She  has  a 
temple  of  splendid  proportions,  and  priests  of  immortal 
name  have  officiated  in  its  courts.  A  long  line  of  illustri 
ous  men  rises  before  us,  and  we  are  almost  overpowered 
by  the  majesty  of  their  presence.  Still,  they  were  men 
like  ourselves  ;  of  like  passions,  if  not  of  like  endow- 


294:  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

ments.  There,  indeed,  is  the  mighty  difference ;  the 
high  and  mysterious  faculty  is  decreed  by  heaven  to 
one  only  among  millions ;  the  elect  sons  and  daughters 
of  genius  and  imagination  are  indeed  few  in  number. 
This  itself  is  one  of  the  elements  of  their  high  distinc 
tion,  like  that  which  is  conferred  on  those  superior  orbs 
of  heaven,  which  stand  out  in  such  brightness  amid 
the  multitude  of  kindred  worlds  that  adorn  the  firma 
ment. 

Cowper  and  Byron  are  among  the  princes,  yet  how 
different !  Incredible,  that  they  belonged  to  the  same 
nation — the  same  species  !  But  the  fiends  of  hell  were 
once  angelic  spirits.  And  man,  that  was  "  made  a  lit 
tle  lower  than  the  angels,"  if  in  the  wondrous  progress 
of  redemption  he  does  not  rise  above  them,  sinks  irreme 
diably  below  them. 

"  With  hideous  ruin  and  combustion,  down 
To  bottomless  perdition,  there  to  dwell 
In  adamantine  chains  and  penal  fire, 
Who  durst  defy  the  Omnipotent  to  arms." 

The  genius  of  Byron  was  eccentric  and  glaring,  like 
the  comet.  That  of  Cowper  was  regular,  rich,  glowing 
with  a  benignant  light,  and  obedient  to  a  high  and 
holy  law.  Was  there  not  a  fundamental  influence  at 
the  basis  of  the  moral  being  of  each  of  these  poets  ? 
Under  what  impulses  did  they  start  in  life?  Ah  !  they 
had  different  mothers.  The  one  calm,  affectionate,  de 
voted  to  her  child,'  and  dedicating  him  to  God ;  the 
other  proud,  imperious,  passionate,  and  prayerless ;  the 
one  blessing  her  William ;  the  other  cursing  her  George 
Gordon.  And  thus  was  the  child  "  father  to  the  man." 


COWPER   AND   BYRON   CONTRASTED.  295 

Never  did  Byron  write  thus  with  the  image  of  his 
mother  before  him — 

"  Thy  own  sweet  smile  I  see, 
The  same  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced  me." 

But  Cowper  loved  to  dwell  on  the  memory  of  her  who 
"bore  him,  nursed  him,  dressed  him  "  in  scarlet  mantle 
warm,  and  velvet  cap,"  as  he  tells  us ;  paid  her 
"  nightly  visits"  to  his  chamber,  gave  him  his  "  morn 
ing  bounties,"  fitted  him  off  for  school,  bestowing  the 
"  fragrant  waters"  on  his  little  cheeks  with  her  own 
dear  hands,  till  "  fresh  they  shone  and  glowed" — all 
these  little  acts,  suggested  by  maternal  tenderness,  en 
deared  his  mother  to  him. 

"And  this,  still  legible  in  memory's  page, 
And  still  to  be  so  to  my  latest  age, 
Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to  pay 
Such  honors  to  thee  as  my  numbers  may." 

But  Byron,  destitute  of  domestic  associations,  stalked 
abroad  'among  pirates,  infidels,  libertines,  and  all  law 
less  beings,  until  the  very  influences  of  such  a  commun 
ion  reacted  on  his  imagination  with  baleful  energy, 
imparting  to  it  a  kind  of  deadly  inspiration,  as  fatal  to 
the  peace  and  health  of  his  own  soul,  as  it  was  destruc 
tive  to  others.  A  noble  mind  he  had,  a  fertile  fancy, 
lofty  powers  of  conception,  a  graceful  yet  vigorous  versi 
fication,  a  diction  of  easy  and  natural  strength,  glowing 
at  times  with  the  fiery  "  impress  of  a  burning  sensi 
bility;"  at  other  times  darkened  all  over  with  the 
gloom  of  a  comfortless  skepticism,  reminding  us  of  a 
beautiful  stream  winding  its  way  through  a  channel 


296  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

overhung  by  shapeless  rocks  and  intertangled  branches 
of  trees  that  shut  out  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  cast 
their  somber  shadows  into  the  depths  beneath.  Byron 
seems  to  have  gloried  in  his  misanthropic  views  of 
man,  the  more  painfully  oppressive,  because  drawn  by 
so  masterly  a  pencil.  Cowper  rej  oiced  in  philanthropic 
views ;  the  more  delightful  because  they  were  the  nat 
ural  effusion  of  a  benevolent  mind,  refined  and  exalted 
by  communion  with  God  and  all  holy  truth.  The 
one  could  w^rite  in  the  sincerity  of  his  soul,  "  England, 
with  all  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  still."  The  other,  with 
equal  sincerity,  "  England,  with  all  thy  fame,  I  hate 
thee  still."  "I  love  a  good  hater,"  said  the  proud 
cynic  among  poets,  and  this  was  the  sum  of  the  second 
table  of  Jiis  decalogue.  The  first — what  was  it  ?  Who 
shall  write  the  answer  ?  To  his  vision,  as  he  looked 
upon  the  ocean,  and  in  the  spirit  of  apostrophe  said — 

"  Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests" — 

images  of  terror  arose,  not  to  awe  and  subdue  the  soul 
into  a  trembling  humility,  but  to  serve  as  mere  re 
sponses  to  the  grandeur  of  his  own  imagination.  The 
image  of  eternity  awakened  in  him  no  wholesome 
thoughts  of  that  dread  retribution  which  awaits  the 
moral  agency  of  man,  and  especially  that  man  on  whom 
the  splendid  endowments  of  creative  genius  were  con 
ferred  with  so  liberal  a  hand. 

Byron  wrote  chiefly  to  gratify  himself;  Cowper  to 
gratify  others.  Through  the  principal  works  of  the 
former  there  is  a  perpetual  impersonation  of  himself, 


COWPEK   AND    BYRON    CONTRASTED.  297 

whoever  be  the  character,  whether  Childe  Harold,  Con 
rad,  Manfred,  or  Don  Juan,  and  whatever  the  plan  or 
the  train  of  events.  Through  those  of  the  latter  we  per 
ceive  a  continually  objective  strain,  in  which  the  forms 
of  truth,  beauty,  goodness,  and  all  kindred  things  are 
pictured  for  their  own  sake,  or  in  their  connection  with 
the  spirit  of  humanity,  their  coincidence  with  nature, 
or  their  subservience  to  the  glory  of  God.  Not  even 
that  deep  and  despairing  melancholy,  which  brooded 
over  the  mind  of  Cowper,  could  alienate  his  unfaltering 
trust  in  God,  or  dim  the  luster  of  his  cheerful  page. 
How  different  from  this  the  gloomy,  scornful  imagin 
ings  of  the  coroneted  bard !  What  violence  must  he 
have  done  to  his  own  exquisite  sense  of  beauty !  Char 
ity  sat  sweetly  on  the  timid  brow  of  the  one.  Defiance 
gleamed  incessantly  from  that  of  the  other.  There  was 
kindness  even  in  the  severity  of  Cowper.  There  was 
severity  in  the  gentleness  of  Byron.  The  one  lived 
to  smile;  the  other  to  sneer.  The  former  was  a 
model  of  purity ;  the  latter  a  pattern  of  uncleanness. 
Cowper  died  in  the  calm  faith  of  the  Gospel ;  Byron — 
but  let  us  drop  the  mantle  of  silence  over  the  doom  of 
the  troubled  spirit,  that  is  sealed  up  to  its  eternal  des 
tiny ! 

13* 


298  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 


XXXV, 


THAT  mysterious  thing  called  GENIUS  is  less  suscepti 
ble  of  an  exact  definition  in  abstract  terms,  than  of 
illustration  by  an  appeal  to  exemplifying,  living 
models.  By  living,  I  mean  not  alone  those  who  are 
contemporaneous  with  us,  but  those  who  live  after  they 
are  dead  ;  minds  of  such  ethereal  mold  as  bid  defiance  , 
to  the  despotism  of  mortality,  and  become  imperishable 
amid  a  thousand  names  and  things  that  perish  around 
them. 

Describe  genius  as  we  may,  whether  as  enthroned  in 
a  comprehensive  intellect,  a  creative  imagination,  or  a 
sovereign  and  decisive  will,  it  must  finally  be  authenti 
cated  by  an  a  posteriori  contemplation,  and  fully  settled 
by  the  judgment  of  posterity.  In  vain  did  Columbus 
long  knock  at  the  palaces  of  kings  ;  in  vain  did  Milton 
court  the  Muses  ;  his  immortal  work  could  command 
only  a  few  pounds.  In  vain  did  Byron  wake  the  music 
of  his  youthful  harp  to  "  Hours  of  Idleness."  The  judi 
cial  critic  pronounced  sentence  of  condemnation  upon 
him,  not  in  sorrow  or  tenderness,  but  with  a  bitter  deri 
sion,  that  instantly  woke  all  the  powers  of  his  mind,  all 
its  firm  resolve,  its  fierce  retaliation,  and  daring,  uncon 
querable  energy.  Goldsmith  was  neglected  by  others, 
and  despaired  of  himself,  until  Johnson  put  courage 


WILLIAM    \VLRT.  299 


into  his  heart  by  assuming  the  responsibility  of  selling 
for  him  his  "  Yicar  of  Wakefield."  Some  of  the  most 
eloquent  of  the  world's  statesmen  and  orators  are  said 
to  have  failed  in  their  first  attempts,  while  many  men 
of  brilliant,  but  premature  promise,  have  sunk  into  ob 
scurity,  leaving  no 

"  name 
To  fill  the  speaking  trump  of  Fame." 

To  the  verdict  of  time,  then,  must  be  committed  the 
merits  of  the  truly  great,  and  these  posterity  will  "  not 
willingly  let  die."  There  is  a  law  of  human  estimation 
which  will  eventually  secure,  not  only  to  the  man  of  ex 
emplary  virtue,  but  to  the  man  of  exalted  genius,  his 
rightful  reward. 

WILLIAM  WIET  is  an  honored  name  in  the  as  yet  in 
fant  history  of  our  country,  not  so  much  from  any  vari 
ety  of  official  station  having  fallen  to  his  lot,  as  in  the 
case  of  John  Quincy  Adams,  to  say  nothing  of  other 
men  of  kindred  eminence  ;  not  because  he  attained  to 
a  supreme  elevation  of  official  station,  but  because  of 
the  eminent  inherent  qualities  of  the  man,  and  the  ex 
traordinary  development  of  those  qualities  in  the  sphere 
in  which  he  actually  moved.  That  sphere  was  the  law, 
and  within  it  he  shone  as  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude. 
It  is  chiefly  as  an  advocate  in  the  courts  of  law,  though 
occasionally  an  author,  that  Mr.  "Wirt  is  known  to  the 
people  of  the  United  States,  and  even  to  those  of  other 
lands.  To  the  noble  science  of  law  he  devoted  himself 
with  an  assiduity,  and  even  an  enthusiasm,  indicative 
at  once  of  an  exalted  intellect,  and  a  passionate  love  of 
those  forms  of  truth  which  are  interwoven  with  the 


300  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

individual  rights  and  social  relations  of  man.  In 
the  walks  of  jurisprudence  he  found  fit  aliment  for 
his  genius,  whether  it  was  called  into  exercise  in 
Courts  of  Nisi  Prius,  or  engaged  in  pure  legal  argu 
mentation. 

Maryland  gave  him  birth,  though  Virginia  adopted 
him,  and  claims,  like  Massachusetts  for  her  AVebster, 
the  prestige  of  his  brilliant  name.  He  was  a  native  of 
Bladensburg:  his  origin  was  humble,  and  his  history 
presents  a  fine  illustration  of  the  excellence  and  efficacy 
of  our  republican  institutions  in  evoking  the  talents  and 
the  intellectual  energies,  that  afterward  became  enlisted 
in  her  service. 

The  wisdom  of  Providence  is  capable  of  devising  an 
indefinite  variety  of  modes  of  moral  discipline,  so  neces 
sary  to  man  in  his  present  state  of  existence.  One  of 
these  is  the  toil  and  struggle  of  youthful  years,  which, 
burdensome  and  bitter  as  they  often  are,  have  in  them 
a  blessing,  that  diffuses  its  unexhausted  influence 
through  all  the  subsequent  period  of  life.  They  not 
only  strengthen  the  sinews  of  our  moral  being,  but  teach 
us  to  moderate  the  ardor  of  our  expectations  from  the 
world,  and  especially  to  guard  ourselves  from  the  illu 
sions  of  a  too  sanguine  fancy.  Those  visions  of  castel 
lated  beauty  that  enchanted  the  ardent  eye  of  youth,  as 
it  gazed  upward  toward  the  clouds,  instead  of  looking 
for  realities  within  reasonable  limits,  soon  melt  away 
as  we  advance  in  the  journey  of  life.  And  we  learn 
to  rely  less  on  the  promises  of  men  than  on  our  own 
patient  efforts,  if  we  can  but  be  sustained  by  a  secret 
divine  aid,  pledged,  indeed,  to  all  men  of  a  diligent 
spirit. 


WILLIAM   WIKT. 


In  the  structure  of  Mr.  Wirt's  mind,  the  imagination 
was  prominent.  The  "  vision  and  the  faculty  divine" 
was  conferred  on  him  in  no  stinted  measure,  insomuch 
that  the  early  portion  of  his  life  might  be  called  poetic, 
as  well  as  romantic.  What  he  then  needed  to  study 
was  the  science  of  mathematics,  or  at  least  of  moral 
truth  in  its  most  rigid  forms  of  demonstration.  But  he 
was  captivated  with  the  charms  of  classic  fable,  and  ex 
patiated  with  congenial  delight  through  the  fields  of 
heathen  mythology.  Then  came  the  discipline  of  the 
school,  that  is,  of  school-teaching,  for,  like  many  other 
great  men,  he  served  that  sort  of  apprenticeship ;  and  as 
a  schoolmaster  must  learn,  if  he  would  teach,  so  he  may 
be  presumed  to  have  learned  some  useful  things  in  that 
unpoetic,  practical  sphere.  And  here  began  his  study 
of  the  law,  a  more  serious  enterprise  than  any  he  had 
yet  undertaken.  One  can  hardly  help  lamenting  that 
so  fine  a  mind  had  not,  at  that  critical  and  pregnant 
period,  been  trained  under  such  influences  as  auspicat 
ed  the  youthful  powers  of  Story ;  that  its  native  ster 
ling  attributes  had  not  then  been  invigorated  and  har 
monized  by  a  judicious  and  liberal  education,  such  as 
they  deserved.  And  yet  these  very  disadvantages  aug 
ment  our  wonder  at  the  splendid  intellectual  triumph 
which  he  eventually  achieved.  If  there  be  any  propri 
ety  in  using  the  term  self-made,  it  would  well  apply  to 
"Wirt,  for  whatever  wisdom  dwelt  in  his  teachers,  he  be 
came  wiser  than  them  all.  To  the  walls  of  a  college  he 
was  a  stranger.  He  was  smitten  with  the  love  of  men- 

O 

tal  progress,  and  was  destined  to  illustrate  it  in  his  own 
person.  Poverty  was  a  blessing  to  him.  It  might  be 
called  his  good  genius  watching  over  his  inexperienced 


GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


youth,  and  impelling  him  to  wholesome  exertion  ;  not 
an  evil  spirit  perpetually  repressing  his  nascent  ener 
gies. 

It  is  no  dishonor  to  hrs  great  name  that  when  he  had 
finished  his  preparatory  legal  studies,  and  selected  the 
field  of  his  practice,  he  was  obliged  to  be  indebted  to 
a  friend  for  the  means  of  reaching  that  field.  But,  once 
in  the  field,  he  could  say,  "  My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom 
is."  The  time  was  to  come  when  a  single  argument  at 
the  bar  produced  him  what  to  some  would  be  a  little 
fortune.  He  then  practiced  in  Fauquier  county,  Vir 
ginia,  the  region  of  the  birth-place  of  Marshall,  clarum- 
que  venerabile  nomen,  and  about  that  time  took  the  tour 
which  preceded  the  publication  of  the  British  Spy,  one 
of  those  assumed  appellations,  for  which  Wirt  seems  to 
have  had  an  habitual  partiality ;  for  though  early  mar 
ried,  he  published  a  series  of  papers  somewhat  after  the 
Addisonian  manner,  on  which  he  bestowed  the  title  of 
"  The  Old  Bachelor,"  and  which,  if  not  always  so  racy 
and  brilliant  as  the  British  Spy,  bear  the  stamp  of  his 
elegant  genius. 

The  State  of  Virginia  abounds  in  scenery  of  the  most 
romantic  character,  such  as  "  Shenstone  might  have  en 
vied,"  and  Wordsworth  might  be  tempted  to  worship, 
as  when  he  says : 

"  Therefore  am  I  still 
A  lover  of  the  meadows,  and  the  woods 
And  mountains,  and  of  all  that  we  behold 
From  this  green  earth  ;  of  all  the  mighty  world 
Of  eye  and  ear,  both  what  they  half  create, 
And  what  perceive.         *         *         * 
Knowing  that  Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her !" 


WILLIAM   WIKT.  303 


It  is  something  more  than  English  scenery,  and  requires 
the  exercise  of  a  bolder  imagination  than  ever  hovered 
around  the  beaiities  of  Windermere,  or  delighted  in  the 
placid  repose  of  the  Cam  or  the  Isis.  The  elements  of 
beauty  may  present  a  perfect  development  amid  the  sea 
girt  isle,  but  for  those  of  grandeur  in  all  its  plenitude, 
the  poet  must  come  and  look  on  American  scenery. 
Lofty  mountains,  spacious  and  exuberant  valleys,  giant 
lakes,  splendid  waterfalls,  enormous  precipices,  un- 
fathomed  subterranean  structures,  and  even  sublime 
imitations  of  human  art  itself,*  if  that  be  possible  to 
nature,  abound  in  this  last  discovered  quarter  of  the 
globe,  this  last  gift  of  God  to  the  wandering  race  of 
men,  and  most  of  these  in  the  primitive,  immense  State 
of  Virginia.  Through  her  beautiful  groves  and  vales 
the  youthful  Wirt  wandered  like  "  the  pilgrim  in  the 
shadow  of  the  Jungfrau."  From  the  summit  of  her 
mountains  he  beheld  with  rapture  the  glory  of  that  far- 
reaching  prospect ;  he  heard  with  astonishment  the 
sound  of  her  waterfalls,  and  his  imagination  kindled 
with  the  inspiration  of  the  scene.  This  was  the  period 
of  the  composition  of  the  British  Spy,  and  it  was  while 
under  this  excitement  of  the  imagination,  that  he  drew 
those  striking  pictures,  especially  that  one  of  the  "  Blind 
Preacher,"  which  has  attained  such  celebrity.  Indeed, 
it  seems  to  have  become  a  standard  passage  in  the 
English  language.  .The  verisimilitude  of  the  painting 
has,  I  believe,  been  duly  authenticated.  The  beauty  of 
the  coloring  was  never  doubted.  And  yet  neither  in 
this,  his  earliest  work,  nor  in  his  Old  Bachelor,  which 
succeeded  it,  do  we  find  so  much  of  the  picturesque, 

*  The  Natural  Bridge. 


304:  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


and  even  the  gorgeous,  as  in  that  production  of  his 
sober  and  mature  years,  the  Life  of  Patrick  Henry. 

But  011  the  character  of  that  racy,  salient,  original 
genius,  that  burning  patriot,  whose  words  came  forth 
like  the  imprisoned  thunder,  scorching  and  blasting 
every  thing  on  which  they  fell,  Wirt  could  never  speak 
but  with  unbounded  enthusiasm. 

His  delineations  of  character  in  the  Spy,  for  instance 
that  of  Marshall  and  of  Monroe,  are  eminently  felici 
tous.  What  was  prophetic  in  them  has  been  fulfilled. 
Monroe,  distinguished  for  his  judgment  of  men,  selected 
him  for  the  office  of  Attorney-General  of  the  United 
States,  in  which  President  Adams  with  equal  judgment 
continued  him.  Marshall  always  looked  pleased  when 
Wirt  was  "  ascending  to  the  height  of  some  great  argu 
ment"  before  him,  though  sometimes  he  was  obliged  to 
give  judgment  against  him. 

As  talent  naturally  tends  to  a  conspicuous  center,  it 
was  not  long  before  Mr.  Wirt  was  drawn  to  Richmond, 
the  metropolis  of  the  State,  where  his  practice  accumu 
lated,  and  whence  his  fame  extended.  Visiting  a  friend 
who  occupies  the  same  house  in  which  Wirt  lived  while 
a  resident  in  Richmond,  I  have  often  sat  down  in  the 
little  office  he  occupied  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
imagined  the  workings  of  his  active  and  accomplished 
mind  on  that  spot,  where  genius  had  impressed  a  beau 
tiful  charm. 

There  was  one  dark  period  in  this  portion  of  his  life, 
when  the  appetites  of  his  inferior  nature  gained  the  as 
cendency  over  the  better  principles  for  which  he  ever 
had  a  profound  respect,  and  to  the  practice  of  which  he 
returned  with  a  steadiness  of  purpose,  and  an  energy  of 


WILLIAM    WIRT.  305 


will,  which  constituted  a  part  of  the  greatness  of  his 
mind.  All  the  man  awoke  within  him  to  spurn  the 
base  indulgences  of  the  animal  nature.  He  dashed  the 
Circean  cup  from  his  lips,  and  escaped  the  sting  of  the 
deadly  adder  that  lay  coiled  at  the  bottom.  The  deso- 
lator  of  health,  talent,  genius,  youth,  beauty,  and  prom 
ise  missed  his  prey,  and  WLKT  was  yet  destined  to 
devote  many  honorable  years  to  his  own  fame,  and  to 
the  service  of  the  country  he  loved.  0  si  sic  omnes — 
but  Charity,  reluctant  to  "  draw  the  frailties"  of  the 
great  from  their  "  dread  abode,"  prefers  to  throw  her 
soft  mantle  over  the  portals  of  the  tomb,  and  teach  the 
only  forgetfulness  that  can  honor  the  dead  or  console 
the  living.  The  sense  of  propriety,  of  duty,  of  virtue, 
continued  to  gather  strength  in  the  mind  of  Wirt,  until 
with  his  constitutional  ardor  tempered  by  a  graceful 
humility,  he  embraced  Christianity,  and  laid  at  her 
feet  the  treasures  of  that  exalted  mind.  This  was,  in 
deed,  late  in  life,  but  it  was  the  expression  of  the  accu 
mulated  testimony  of  that  life  ;  of  the  faith  of  one  long 
accustomed  to  study  premises,  to  weigh  evidence,  to 
expect  demonstration,  and  to  rest  only  in  well-estab 
lished  conclusions. 

I  have  said  that  the  principal  sphere  in  which  Mr. 
Wirt  moved  was  that-of  the  Courts.  By  the  Legislature 
of  Virginia  he  was  offered  a  seat  in  the  Senate  of  the 
United  States,  which  he  declined.  He  would  have 
honored  the  State,  which  thus  sought  to  honor  him,  for 
the  character  of  his  eloquence  and  the  extent  of  his  at 
tainments,  joined  to  the  habitual  dignity  and  suavity 
of  his  deportment,  admirably  qualified  him  for  that 
sphere ;  but  he  preferred  not  to  leave  the  walks  of  juris- 


GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


prudence,  and  as  he  there  concentrated  his  efforts,  there 
he  gathered  the  enduring  laurels  which  encircle  his 
name.  What  Cicero  says  of  a  distinguished  orator, 
might  justly  be  applied  to  Wirt :  "  In  oratione  sapien- 
tis  hominis  et  recti,  gravitas  summa  et  naturalis  quse- 
dam  inerat  auctoritas,  non  et  causam,  sed  ut  testimo- 
nium  dicere  putares."  "In  the  oratory  of  this  wise  and 
upright  man  there  appeared  the  utmost  dignity,  and  a 
certain  natural  imposing  authority,  which  might  lead 
you  to  suppose  he  was  not  so  much  advocating  a  cause 
as  delivering  testimony." 

Nature  had  formed  his  person  in  an  imperial  mold, 
and  stamped  on  his  countenance  the  lineaments  of  a 
serene,  yet  penetrating  mind.  While  its  well-propor 
tioned  amplitude  mirrored  forth  that  rich  and  beautiful 
imagination  that  dwelt  within,  it  faithfully  reflected, 
too,  the  broad  and  comprehensive  intellect,  which  proved 
itself  equal  to  every  subject  and  every  argument  it  at 
tempted.  Distinguished  for  good  sense,  and  a  correct 
appreciation  of  the  position  in  which  he  happened  to 
be  placed,  Mr.  Wirt  indulged  in  no  flights  of  fancy  be 
fore  the  Supreme  Bench  of  the  United  States,  but  con 
structed  and  compacted  his  argument  with  a  strictness 
and  severity  of  thought  and  reasoning  that  proved  not 
only  his  consummate  forensic  skill,  but  his  indefatiga 
ble  preparation.  Among  those  efforts  which  the  writer 
witnessed,  he  well  remembers  his  defense  of  Judge 
Peck,  in  the  case  of  impeachment  before  the  Senate  of 
the  United  States,  some  twenty  years  since.  On  that 
occasion  were  arrayed  against  him  what  might  be 
called  a  Committee  of  the  elite  of  the  House,  embracing 
the  names  of  Ambrose  Spencer,  Storrs,  Buchanan,  Me- 


WILLIAM   WIRT.  307 


Dnffie ;  with  whom  he  nobly  contended  single-handed, 
and  brought  his  client  off  victorious.  It  was  pronounced 
by  all  a  masterly  defense,  as  it  was  certainly  one  that 
tasked  all  the  resources  even  of  his  fertile  mind.  But 
he  was  a  man  capable  of  rising  to  the  height  of  any 
occasion,  however  august,  and  of  sustaining  an  equal 
career  with  any  of  his  compeers. 

For  a  specimen  of  jury  pleading,  where  impressive 
elocution  and  impassioned  appeal  befitted  the  occasion, 
I  might  refer  to  the  celebrated  trial  of  Aaron  Burr,  in 
which  he  was  counsel  for  Blennerhasset ;  but  what  child 
is  not  familiar  with  that  brilliant  oration  ?  Curran  never 
surpassed  it. 

To  the  beauty  of  an  almost  faultless  diction  he  added 
the  graces  of  a  fine  elocution.  Fluent,  but  not  feeble ; 
earnest,  but  not  declamatory;  amplifying,  but  never 
wiredrawing,  he  carried  the  minds  of  the  court  or  jury 
along  with  him  in  such  style  as  to  make  it  rather  a 
pleasure  than  a  burden  to  hear  him.  Even  the  tones 
of  his  voice  were  rich  with  various  music,  its  full  ca 
dences  lingering  delightfully  on  the  ear,  while  the  be 
nignity  and  sincerity  of  his  countenance,  aided  by  the 
striking  expression  of  his  dark  and  animated  eye,  com 
pleted  the  effect  of  his  oratory  on  his  captive  auditors. 
At  the  conclusion  of  one  of  his  touching  perorations 
(for  there  was  a  vein  of  deep  tenderness  in  his  composi 
tion),  I  have  seen  the  unwonted  tears  trembling  in  the 
eyes  even  of  the  judges,  and  Marshall  himself  endeavor 
ing  to  suppress  the  emotion  awakened  by  the  irresisti 
ble  eloquence  of  the  accomplished  advocate. 

But  that  voice  will  no  more  be  heard  among  men. 
The  seal  of  death  is  upon  it,  and  that  manly  form  is 


308  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

embraced  in  the  passionless  repose  of  the  grave.  But 
"  being  dead,  he  yet  speaketh."  The  close  of  his  life 
was  cloudless  and  serene.  The  spirit  of  affliction  had 
passed  through  his  soul,  but  though,  like  the  angel  of 
Bethesda,  it  troubled  the  waters,  there  was  a  healing 
power  in  it,  of  which  he  tenderly  speaks  in  a  letter  to 
Rev.  Dr.  Rice,  then  himself  on  the  borders  of  the  prom 
ised  land.  A  lovely  daughter,  the  youngest  of  the 
family  circle,  was  taken  from  him.  "  Although,"  says 
he,  "  we  have  suffered  all  the  anguish  that  parents  can 
feel  under  such  a  bereavement,  we  have  learned  to  bless 
and  thank  our  God  for  his  mercy  to  her  and  to  us,  in 
removing  her  from  the  storms  and  dangers  of  this 
wicked  world,  and  transplanting  our  tender  flower  into 
his  own  garden,  and  cutting  the  strongest  cord  that 
bound  us  to  earth.  We  have  seen  her  almost  visibly 
ascend  to  heaven  before  us,  and  now  feel  that  we  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  prepare  with  all  our  might,  under 
the  assistance  of  our  God  and  Saviour,  to  follow  her. 
*  *  *  God  called  me  in  my  youth,  and  I  heard 
him  for  a  season,  but  the  infidels  of  Georgia  were  per 
mitted  to  prevail  over  his  Spirit,  and  to  ridicule  me 
out  of  my  religion.  My  Heavenly  Father  might  then 
have  justly  forsaken  me,  but  he  never  did.  On  the 
contrary,  his  Spirit  has  always  been  striving  with  me, 
and  maintaining  a  powerful,  and  at  length  a  victorious 
contest,  I  trust,  with  the  world." 

Such  is  the  testimony  of  one  of  the  most  splendid 
minds  of  our  country  to  the  value  and  necessity  of  re 
ligion  ;  to  the  fact  of  the  secret  operations  of  the  Spirit 
of  God  on  a  heart  masked  from  the  inspection  of  the 
world,  but  belvina:  the  infidelitv  that  maintained  its 

v          O  t/ 


ELIZABETH    BTJNYAN.  309 

temporary  venomous  ascendency  on  his  lips.  He  never 
sought  the  refuge  of  a  bad  principle  but  in  the  hour  of 
temptation  and  indulgence,  and  then  with  a  trembling 
heart  and  an  accusing  conscience. 

Time  and  grace  have  triumphed  over  all  adverse 
things,  and  set  the  star  of  beauty  in  his  immortal  crown. 


XXXVI, 


IT  was  in  the  month  of  August,  1661,  at  the  Mid 
summer  Assizes  in  that  part  of  England  which  includ 
ed  in  its  jurisdiction  the  town  of  Bedford,  celebrated  as 
the  birthplace  of  John  Bunyan,  that  a  woman  appeared 
in  the  Swan-chamber,  where  the  two  judges,  and  many 
justices  and  gentry  of  the  country,  sat  in  company.  She 
was  neatly  though  poorly  attired  in  the  peculiar  costume 
of  the  day.  Her  step  was  slow  and  somewhat  timid,  as 
if  she  feared  to  do  any  thing  inconsistent  with  the  deli 
cacy  of  her  sex,  and  upon  a  naturally  serene  and  seri 
ous  brow  there  seemed  to  press  an  additional  weight, 
as  of  some  extraordinary  sorrow,  which  had  hitherto 
in  vain  sought  relief  from  any  earthly  source.  Those, 
indeed,  were  times  of  severe  and  wasting  trial  to  men 
who  had  any  regard  to  their  own  consciences,  any  re 
spect  for  the  dignity  of  human  nature,  or  the  inviola 
bility  of  human  rights,  or  any  sense  of  the  value  of 
liberty  regulated  by  just  and  beneficent  law.  All 

*  Founded  on  one  of  the  chapters  in  Philip's  Life  of  Bunyan. 


310  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 


those  formidable  difficulties  that  oppressed  and  ob 
structed  the  progress  of  society  and  of  liberal  opinions, 
arose  out  of  the  union  of  the  crown  and  the  crozier,  the 
throne  of  power  with  the  spiritual  chair.  Such  a  con 
tradiction  to  the  first  principles  of  the  founder  of  Chris 
tianity,  who  declared  that  "his  kingdom  was  not  of 
this  world,"  necessarily  led  to  convulsions  in  Church 
and  State,  which  rent  the  very  foundation  of  society, 
and  produced  scenes  at  which  humanity  might  blush, 
and  over  which  the  spirit  of  mercy  might  weep,  as  if 
in  despair  for  the  triumph  of  truth,  justice,  and  free 
dom.  It  might  be  called  the  Procrustean  age,  when 
men  were  fastened  to  iron  beds,  and  stretched  or  short 
ened  according  to  the  fancy  of  tyrants  and  bigots. 

Among  the  sufferers  for  conscience'  sake  was  John 
Bunyan,  the  immortal  Pilgrim,  who  was  thrust  into 
Bedford  Jail,  and  kept  there  twelve  years,  that  he 
might  learn  better  manners  than  to  speak  his  own 
mind,  or  use  any  liberty  of  teaching  the  ignorant  and 
the  wicked  out  of  that  Bible  which  God  has  given  to 
man.  Rampant  power,  under  pretext  of  law  and  jus 
tice,  paid  no  respect  to  the  tenderness  of  domestic  ties, 
as  it  was  incapable  of  appreciating  the  beauty  of  the 
domestic  virtues.  It  was  the  reign  of  Charles  II., 
when  purity  was  denounced  as  prudery,  virtue  laughed 
to  scorn,  and  vice  courted,  honored,  and  even  enthron 
ed  ;  when  "  truth  had  fallen  in  the  street,  and  equity 
could  not  enter"  the  dwellings  of  men. 

John  Bunyan  had  been  torn  from  his  wife  and  four 
children,  who  were  dependent  for  subsistence  on  his 
daily  labor,  and  one  of  whom  was  blind,  and  of  course 
the  object  of  peculiar  attention  and  parental  sympathy. 


ELIZABETH    BUNYAN.  311 

That  little  blind  daughter  frequently  shared  his  im 
prisonment  with  him,  and  listened  with  child-like  in 
terest  to  the  "  tales  of  a  father,"  in  which  he  pointed 
out  the  Christian  pilgrim's  way  to  heaven. 

He  that  has  never  looked  upon  the  interview  of  a  ten 
der-hearted  wife  with  her  husband  in  prison,  has  yet 
to  behold  one  of  the  most  affecting  phases  of  humanity. 
Guilty  or  innocent,  he  becomes  the  object  of  an  extra 
ordinary  affection,  which  seeks  to  shield  guilt,  or  vin 
dicate  innocence.  Stern  law  itself  seems  delicately  to 
recognize  this  feeling  in  woman,  when  it  refuses  to 
question  her  about  the  criminality  of  the  husband,  and 
requires  no  testimony  from  either  against  the  other. 
How  could  Elizabeth  Bunyan  sleep  on  her  bereaved 
pillow,  when  her  innocent  husband — and  that  husband 
a  servant  of  the  Most  High  God — was  languishing  in 
a  jail?  She  had  never  heard  of  Pliny's  Hispulla, 
Cicero's  Terentia,  of  Lady  Russell,  or  of  Helen  Walker, 
who  was  to  be  the  heroine  of  an  immortal  page  under 
the  name  of  Jeanie  Deans.  She  had  no  idea  of  play 
ing  the  heroine  when  she  entered  the  judicial  chamber, 
but,  prompted  by  woman's  undying  affection,  resolved 
to  do  all  in  her  power  to  obtain  the  release  of  her  hus 
band. 

Sir  Matthew  Hale  was  on  the  bench,  supported  by 
other  judges  less  merciful  and  tender  in  their  deport 
ment. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Elizabeth,  with  a  tremulous  accent 
that  bespoke  her  heart's  deep  emotion,  "  I  make  bold 
to  come  once  again  to  your  lordship,  to  know  what 
may  be  done  with  my  husband." 

Sir  Matthew  replied  that  it  was  out  of  his  power  to 


312  GLEANINGS   AND   GKOUPINGS. 

help  her,  because,  said  he,  "  they  have  taken  that  for  a 
conviction  which  thy  husband  spoke  at  the  sessions ; 
and  unless  there  be  something  done  to  undo  that,  I  can 
do  thee  no  good." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  wife  of  Bunyan,  her  spirit 
rising  to  the  height  of  its  conscious  dignity,  while  it 
maintained  its  respect  for  the  majesty  of  the  presence 
in  which  she  stood,  "  My  lord,  he  is  kept  unlawfully  in 
prison ;  they  clapped  him  up  before  there  were  any 
proclamations  against  the  meetings ;  the  indictment 
also  is  false ;  besides,  they  never  asked  him  whether 
he  was  guilty  or  no ;  neither  did  he  confess  the  indict 
ment,"  and  as  she  concluded  the  sentence,  a  flush  of 
virtuous  indignation  mantled  her  pale  cheek.  As 
Elizabeth  was  about  to  resume  her  remonstrance,  one 
of  the  justices  interposed  sternly : 

"  My  lord,  he  was  lawfully  convicted." 

"  It  is  false,"  retorted  the  woman,  stung  with  a  sense 
of  the  injury  done  to  herself  and  her  husband ;  "  for, 
when  they  said  to  him,  do  you  confess  'the  indictment, 
he  said  only  this,  that  he  had  been  to  several  meetings, 
both  where  there  were  preaching  the  word  and  prayer, 
and  that  they  had  God's  presence  among  them." 

Her  pious  and  trusting  heart  could  not  conceive  how 
impious  men,  under  color  of  law,  could  interfere  with 
the  high  sanction  of  divine  authority,  and  question  the 
broad  seal  of  Heaven,  so  visibly  stamped  on  the  com 
mission  of  him,  whose  conversion  was  itself  almost  a 
miracle.  Not  so  did  Twisdon,  a  misbelieving  member 
of  that  court,  regard  the  tinker  of  Elstowe  ;  nor  was  he 
a  man  to  be  moved  from  his  purpose  by  the  pratings 
of  an  ignorant  woman,  as  he  doubtless  esteemed  her, 


ELIZABETH    BUJSYAN.  313 


who  presumed  to  argue  matters  so  much  beyond  her 
reach. 

"  What !"  he  said,  angrily,  "  you  think  we  can  do 
what  we  list ;  your  husband  is  a  breaker  of  the  peace, 
and  is  convicted  by  the  law." 

"But,"  interrupted  the  ready  advocate,  in  a  firm 
and  determined  tone  of  voice,  indicating  a  deep  con 
viction  of  the  righteousness  of  her  cause,  "  my  lord,  he 
was  not  lawfully  convicted — " 

"  He  was  lawfully  convicted,"  retorted  Justice  Ches 
ter,  as  if  he  would  be  behind  none  of  his  associates  in 
inflexibility  of  opinion.  A  shade  of  disapprobation 
passed  over  the  brow  of  Elizabeth  Bunyan,  while  she 
begged  leave  to  deny  the  truth  of  the  assertion  thus 
positively  made.  Hope  still  struggled  against  the  ex 
tremity  of  her  case,  while  she  maintained  "  it  was  but 
a  word  of  discourse  that  they  took  for  a  conviction," 
and  bursting  into  tears,  she  wept  with  a  profuseness 
that  seemed  to  give  relief  to  her  surcharged  heart. 
There  was  mute  eloquence  in  those  tears !  The  judges 
sat  in  silence,  as  if,  after  all.  it  were  more  becoming  to 
suffer  a  sentiment  of  heaven-born  pity  to  diffuse  its  ten 
der  influence  through  their  bosoms,  than  to  persist  in 
bringing  all  the  severity  of  the  law  to  bear  on  its  hum 
ble,  helpless  victims,  offenders  though  they  held  them 
to  be,  especially  the  man  who  now  lay  the  inmate  of  a 
comfortless  jail. 

At  length  Chester  broke  the  silence,  and  in  such 

&  ' 

terms  as  too  clearly  indicated  that  if  the  law  of  sym 
pathy  had  obtained  its  natural  ascendency,  it  was  only 
for  a  moment,  while  the  permanent  feeling  was  that  of 
inexorable  justice,  impervious  even  to  woman's  tears. 

14 


314  GLEANINGS    AIN'L)    GROUPINGS. 

"  It  is  recorded,  woman ;  it  is  recorded,"  exclaimed 
Chester. 

And  this  seemed  to  be  the  length  and  breadth  of  his 
argument.  The  ingenuity  of  a  benevolent  heart  would 
have  found  reasons  for  protecting  the  weak  against  the 
strong,  while  it  indulged  the  luxury  of  gratifying  the 
desires  of  one  whose  devotion  was  so  sincere  and  ar 
dent.  But  those  were  no  times  for  the  exercise  of  the 
gentler  virtues,  and  the  genius  of  the  age  seemed  dis 
satisfied,  until  it  had  elevated  to  the  bench,  and  invest 
ed  with  the  ermine,  that  incarnation  of  brutality — Jef 
fries.  The  fiery  Bonner  expressed  the  real  spirit  of 
those  in-  power  toward  those  who  dared  to  cherish  lib 
erty  of  opinion :  "  You  will  never  mend  till  more  of 
you  burn."  Such  was  the  efficacy  of  fire  to  convince 
and  persuade  men  to  be  of  the  right  opinion  ! 

To  the  vociferation  of  Chester  that  "  it  was  recorded," 
Elizabeth  replied,  in  a  calm  and  decisive  manner,  that 
she  had  been  at  London  to  obtain  her  husband's  liber 
ty  ;  had  delivered  a  petition  to  Lord  Barkwood,  and 
others  of  the  House  of  Lords,  to  that  effect,  all  of  whom 
said  they  had  no  power  to  set  him  at  large,  but  com 
mitted  his  releasement  to  the  judges,  at  the  next  As 
sizes.  "  And  now,"  she  added,  "  I  am  come  to  appeal 
to  you,  whose  great  duty  it  is  to  temper  justice  with 
mercy,  to  deliver  the  oppressed,  and,  as  our  Holy  Scrip 
tures  say,  to  '  give  liberty  to  the  captive,  and  the 
opening  of  the  prison  to  them  that  are  bound,  to  judge 
the  fatherless,  plead  for  the  widow,  and  avenge  us  of 
our  adversaries,'  lest  the  cry  of  the  injured  come  up 
into  the  ears  of  the  Lord  of  Sabaoth,  and  he  come  down 
in  wrath  against  you  and  against  this  nation,  that  has 


ELIZABETH    BUN Y AN.  315 


drunk  the  blood  of  the  saints.  Hath  he  not  said,  that 
when  he  shall  whet  his  glittering  sword,  and  his  hand 
take  hold  on  judgment,  .he  will  render  vengeance  to  his 
adversaries,  and  reward  them  that  hate  him  ?  That  Tie 
shall  have  judgment  without  mercy,  who  hath  showed 
no  mercy  ?  I  appeal,  then,  to  your  lordships,  whose 
only  hope  of  pardon  and  salvation  is  in  the  mercy  of 
God,  that  ye  judge  and  avenge  me  this  day,  as  one 
whom  ye  are  shortly  to  meet  at  that  tribunal  where 
you  and  all  the  judges  of  the  earth  are  to  be  tried  for 
the  life  eternal." 

As  she  uttered  these  words  in  an  earnest  and  pierc 
ing  voice,  they  sounded  through  the  court  like  the  pro 
phetic  tones  of  one  who  had  indeed  spoken  in  the 
name  of  Him  whose  words  cannot  fall  to  the  ground. 

And  those  ministers  of  the  law,  if  not  convinced, 
were  for  a  time  silenced.  The  historian  tells  us,  "  they 
made  as  if  they  heard  her  not,"  while  Chester  reiterat 
ed  his  old  song,  "  it  is  recorded,  it  is  recorded ;"  a  rec 
ord  which,  written  by  bigotry,  charity  would  fain  have 
blotted  out  with  her  tears. 

"  If  it  be  recorded,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  the  record  is 
false !  And  woe  unto  them  who  call  evil  good  and 
good  evil,  who  put  darkness  for  light  and  light  for 
darkness,  falsehood  for  truth  and  truth  for  falsehood. 
They  shall  have  their  reward." 

"  My  lord,"  said  Chester,  endeavoring  to  forget  the 
heroic  suppliant  that  stood  before  him,  "  this  Bimyan 
is  a  pestilent  fellow,  a  man  that  deafe  in  dreams  and 
visions ;  a  blasphemer,  who  pretends  to  have  seen  the 
devil  and  wrestled  with  him ;  who  thinks  himself  a 
John  Baptist,  and  has  set  up  for  a  reformer,  whereas 


- 

316  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 


he  is  only  a  tinker,  and  has  left  tinkering  for  preach 
ing.  There  is  not  such  a  fellow  in  the  country  again. 
But  we  will  cure  him  of  his  diseases.  We  want  uo 
sonl-tinkering  in  the  land.  Men  may  think  as  they 
list,  but  let  them  keep  to  their  trades,  neither  be  too 
free  of  their  thoughts.  He  is  convicted,  and  it  is  re 
corded." 

Whereupon  Twisdon,  as  if  desiring  to  re-enforce  these 
hard  words,  and  rob  the  lone  woman  of  all  hope,  asks 
her:  "Will  your  husband  now  leave  preaching,  and 
conform  to  the  laws  of  the  realm  ?  Wist  ye  not  we 
have  power  to  grind  him  to  the  dust  ?  If  he  will  leave 
preaching,  then  bring  him  hither." 

"  My  lord,  ye  may  grind  him  to  the  dust,  but  ye 
cannot  grind  the  truth  he  holds  and  delivers.  You 
may  scatter  his  ashes  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  but 
they  will  be  like  the  seed  that  flieth  all  abroad,  and, 
taking  root,  bringeth  forth  a  thousand-fold.  He  can 
not,  he  dareth  not  leave  preaching,  and  though  you 
bind  him,  '  the  word  of  God  is  not  bound,'  as  testify 
the  Scriptures  themselves.  Therefore  loose  him,  and 
let  him  go  his  way." 

The  patience  of  the  judges  seemed  now  to  be  fast 
waning,  for  they  began  to  feel  there  was  nothing  harder 
to  contend  with  than  the  roused  spirit  of  injured  wo 
man,  nothing  more  obnoxious  than  official  intrusion 
upon  the  rights  of  conscience  and  the  sanctities  of  do 
mestic  life. 

"See  here,"  said  Twisdon,  "what  should  we  talk 
any  more  about  such  a  fellow  ?  Must  he  do  what  he 
lists  ?  He  is  a  breaker  of  the  peace,  and  should  be  bro 
ken  of  his  wickedness." 


ELIZABETH    BUNYAN. 


There  was  one  subject  which  the  wife  of  Bunyan  had 
not  yet  touched,  in  the  hope  that  a  sense  of  justice 
would  lead  the  court  to  grant  her  request,  without  too 
minutely  spreading  before  them  the  painful  necessities 
of  that  little  family  over  which,  in  the  midst  of  all  her 
affliction,  she  never  failed  to  extend  the  shield  of  a 
mother's  love.  Hitherto  she  had  withheld  the  mention 
of  this,  in  the  expectation  that  her  simple  arguments 
would  prevail  with  men  whose  business  it  was  to  do 
justly,  as  well  as  to  love  mercy.  But  that  expectation 
failing,  she  again  addressed  the  court,  while  the  sad 
ness  of  her  countenance  too  truly  reflected  the  sorrow 
of  her  heart. 

"  Can  I  need  to  assure  you,  my  lord,  that  my  hus 
band  desireth  to  live  peaceably  with  all  men,  and  to 
follow  his  calling,  that  he  may  maintain  his  family  ? 
Moreover,  I  have/bw  small  children,  that  cannot  help 
themselves,  one  of  which  is  blind,  so  we  have  nothing 
to  live  upon  but  the  charity  of  good  people." 

Such  was  the  state  of  poor  Bunyan's  family,  while 
the  court  of  Charles  II.  was  reveling  in  vice,  luxury, 
and  all  manner  of  debauchery.  And  there  sat  his  min 
isters  to  pronounce  judgment  against  men  for  exercis 
ing  that  freedom  which  is  derived  by  charter  directly 
from  God  himself,  and  to  abridge  which  is  to  invade 
the  prerogative  of  God. 

Justice  Hale  indeed  seemed  touched  with  pity  at  the 
mention  of  her  children,  and  exclaimed,  "  Alas,  poor 
woman !" 

Twisdon,  however,  the  network  of  whose  heart  seems 
to  have  been  constructed  of  steel,  and  to  have  been  as 
destitute  of  sensibility  as  a  stratified  rock,  accused  Mrs. 


318  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 

Bunyan  of  using  poverty  as  a  cloak,  and  declared  that 
she  was  better  maintained  by  her  husband's  running 
up  and  down,  preaching,  than  by  following  his  calling 
for  'a  living. 

"  What  is  his  calling  ?"  asked  Sir  Matthew. 

"  A  tinker,  my  lord,"  was  the  answer  of  some  one 
present. 

"  Yes,"  added  Elizabeth,  "  and  because  he  is  a'tinker, 
and  a  poor  man,  therefore  he  is  despised,  and  cannot 
have  justice.  But  there  is  one  tribunal,  whereof  the 
Judge  will  not  regard  the  persons  of  men,  but  judge 
righteous  judgment.  We  shall  all  meet  there!" 

Meanwhile,  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  who  had  naturally  a 
warm  and  tender  heart,  had  been  suppressing  its  rising 
emotions ;  for  though  he  sat  as  a  judge,  he  felt  as  a 
husband  and  a  father ;  and  brushing  away  an  unbidden 
tear,  and  addressing  the  petitioner  in  a  tone  of  kind 
ness,  said :  "  Seeing  it  is  so,  that  they  have  taken  what 
thy  husband  spake  for  a  conviction,  I  recommend  thou 
apply  thyself  to  the  king,  or  sue  out  his  pardon,  or  get 
a  writ  of  error."  And  the  judge  looked  intently  on 
the  object  of  his  address. 

"  A  writ  of  error,  my  lord !"  exclaimed  Chester,  who 
was  offended  with  the  whole  strain  of  kindly  advice  given 
by  Hale,  and  especially  with  the  last  clause  of  it — "  A 
writ  of  error  to  the  behoof  of  such  a  fellow  as  this ! 
He  will  preach,  and  do  what  he  lists." 

"  Hepreacheth  nothing  ~but  the  word  of  God"  rejoined 
Elizabeth,  with  much  emphasis,  encouraged  as  she  was 
by  the  chief  justice. 

"  He  preach  the  word  of  God !"  angrily  cried  Twis- 
don,  with  a  violence  of  gesture  as  if  he  would  have 


ELIZABETH   BUNYAN.  319 

struck  the  defenseless  woman  before  him ;  "  he  runneth 
up  and  down,  a  busy-body  in  other  men's  matters,  a 
wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  a  disturber  of  the  peace,  and 
a  reprobate." 

"  No,  my  lord,  God  hath  owned  the  labors  of  my 
husband,  and  through  him  converted  many  souls  from 
the  error  of  their  ways,  who  will  be  his  joy  and  crown 
of  rejoicing  in  the  day  when  He  shall  make  up  his 
jewels."  And  she  spoke  as  if  animated  with  a  sweet 
confidence  in  the  truth  of  what  she  said,  and  as  if,  un 
der  the  consciousness  of  that  inspiring  truth,  she  could 
bow  with  resignation  even  to  the  rudeness  of  a  Chester 
or  a  Twisdon. 

"  God  own  John  Bunyan,  do  you  say,  woman !" 
clamored  Twisdon :  "  his  is  a  doctrine  of  the  devil !" 
And  he  uttered  it  with  a  hearty  malice  and  spitefulness 
which  Satan  himself  might  have  envied. 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Elizabeth,  with  a  tranquil  firm 
ness  that  contrasted  strongly  with  the  violence  of  her 
judicial  browbeater,  "  when  the  righteous  Judge  shall 
appear  to  uncover  the  secrets  of  men's  hearts,  and  to 
judge,  not  according  to  appearances,  but  with  righteous 
judgment,  it  will  then  be  seen  that  his  doctrine  is  not 
of  the  devil,  but  the  doctrine  of  truth  and  righteous 
ness."  And  such  a  double  emphasis  did  she  placed  on 
the  word  righteous,  as  to  satisfy  all  there  was  a  striking 
contrast  drawn  in  her  own  mind  between  the  transac 
tions  of  the  present  and  the  future. 

"  Send  her  away,  send  her  away,"  reiterated  Twis 
don,  to  the  chief  justice.  "  Wist  ye  not  that  this  wo 
man  ought  not  further  to  trouble  us  with  her  presence 
and  pertinaciousness  ?" 


GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 


"  It  grieveth  me,  woman,"  said  Sir  Matthew,  whose 
thoughts  seemed  absorbed  in  the  condition  of  the  un 
friended  female  before  him,  "  that  I  can  do  thee  no 
good.  Thou  must  do  one  of  those  three  things  afore 
said,  to  wit,  either  apply  thyself  to  the  king,  or  sue  out 
the  pardon  of  thy  husband,  or  else  get  a  writ  of  error ; 
but  a  writ  of  error  will  be  thy  best  resort.  Many  are 
they  who  have  thus  been  holpen  out  of  their  trouble." 

Under  this  final  decision  of  the  court,  the  devot 
ed  wife  of  Bunyan  retired,  thankful  to  God  that  he 
had  lifted  from  her  soul  a  weight  of  fear  with  which 
she  had  entered  that  chamber,  and  inspired  a  poor, 
weak  woman  with  unwonted  courage  to  bear  her  testi 
mony  before  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  yet  filled  with 
sorrow,  not  merely  for  her  unavailing  efforts  to  obtain 
the  enlargement  of  her  husband,  but  for  the  prospective 
doom  of  those  who  had  lent  themselves  as  the  instru 
ments  of  oppression  and  cruelty  against  an  innocent 
man.  "  I  could  not  but  break  forth  into  tears,"  she 
said,  in  simple  and  artless  language,  "  not  so  much  be 
cause  they  were  so  hard-hearted  against  me  and  my 
husband,  but  to  think  what  a  sad  account  such  poor 
creatures  will  have  to  give  at  the  coming  of  the  Lord, 
when  they  shall  there  answer  for  whatsoever  things 
they  have  done  in  the  body,  whether  they  be  good  or 
bad." 

The  seal  of  death  has  long  since  been  placed  on  all 
the  actors  in  these  scenes,  and  while  the  sepulcher 
holds  their  dust,  their  conscious  spirits,  invested  with 
the  responsibilities  of  an  immortal  existence,  await  the 
equal  and  exact  retributions  of  the  appointed  day,  "  for 
which  all  other  days  were  made."  For  twelve  long 


ELIZABETH   BUNYAN.  321 

years  did  John  Bunyaii  lie  in  the  prison  of  Bedford,  a 
living  martyr  to  the  liberty  of  conscience  and  the  free 
dom  of  speech.  Those  sad  prison  hours  were  often 
shared  with  him  by  his  little  blind  daughter,  who,  like 
a  ministering  angel,  tendered  to  him  the  sweet  sym 
pathy  of  her  undying  aifections,  while  in  return  he  be 
stowed  on  his  child  those  paternal  caresses,  which  were 
rendered  more  precious  and  sacred  by  their  endurance 
of  a  common  affliction.  Occasionally  he  enjoyed  the 
additional  melancholy  solace  of  a  visit  from  his  desti 
tute,  but  still  devoted  wife,  and  distressed  children, 
whom  the  grave  still  spared,  only  to  be  the  pining  vic 
tims  of  want,  when  they  were  not  the  pitied  objects  of 
charity.  And  all  this  bitter  suffering  was  earned  as 
the  result  of  "  teaching  plain  country  people  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  Scriptures,  and  the  practice  of  virtue  !" 

That  was  the  "  head  and  front  of  his  offending."  It 
has  been  said  that  "  it  requires  the  energy  of  Fox,  the 
eloquence  of  Burke,  and  the  pathos  of  Sheridan,  to 
paint  the  effect  of  that  prison  scene  on  the  feelings  of 
humanity."  AVhat  qualities  in  man,  then,  were  re 
quired  to  endure — to  pe  the  original  of — a  scene  so  dif 
ficult  to  be  painted  ?  The  spirit  of  humanity  has  en 
joined  upon  us, 

"  Never  to  blend  our  pleasure  or  our  pride 
"With  sorrow  of  the  meanest  thing  that  lives." 

Haw  often,  alas !  in  the  history  of  mankind,  has  this 
noble  canon  of  heavenly  charity  been  violated !  And 
how  deeply  is  her  spirit  grieved,  when  the  hand  of 
power,  seizing  the  weapons  of  persecution,  wields  them 
with  bigot  fury  against  the  very  image  of  God !  "  Man's 

14* 


322  GLEANINGS    AND    GROT7PTNGS. 


inhumanity  to  man,"  we  had  almost  said,  is  the  history 
of  man.  If  Burns,  in  the  bitterness  of  personal  expe 
rience,  gave  utterance  to  that  broad  sentiment,  which 
casts  such  a  stain  on  our  race,  what  reason  had  Bun- 
yan  to  give  it  a  wider  scope  and  a  swifter  wring !  Yet 
he  was  cheerful  in  sorrow,  and  triumphant  in  affliction. 
A  lambent  light  from  Heaven  softened  the  gloom  of 
his  dungeon,  and  voices  sweet  as  the  music  of  angels 
whispered  peace  to  his  soul.  His  very  dreams  were 
of  the  heavenly  world ;  and  oh,  that  DREAM  which  had 
its  birth,  like  a  thing  of  inspiration,  as  he  lay  on  his 
enchanted  pillow,  hard  though  it  was,  unsmoothed  by 
the  hand  of  domestic  love !  "  As  I  walked  through 
the  wilderness  of  this  world,"  is  the  opening  language 
of  his  immortal  Pilgrim's  Progress,  "I  lighted  on  a 
certain  place  where  there  was  a  den  [his  jail],  and  laid 
me  down  in  that  place  to  sleep;  and,  as  I  slept,  I 
dreamed  a  dream."  How  many  have  been  charmed 
into  a  new,  celestial  life  by  that  dream,  which,  under 
the  form  of  the  ideal,  presents  a  splendid  image  of  the 
real,  the  true,  and  the  perpetual ;  a  work  that  comes 
home  to  the  "  business  and  bosoms  of  men ;"  the  charm 
of  childhood,  and  the  solace  of  age ;  the  companion  of 
our  solitary,  and  the  theme  of  our  social  hours  ;  the  il 
luminated  chart  of  the  Christian  voyager  over  the  sea 
of  life,  which  he  may  consult  in  the  darkest  night ;  the 
beautiful  synopsis  of  Christian  doctrine ;  the  profound 
analysis  of  Christian  experience;  a  work  in  which 
truth  glows  under  the  veil  of  fiction,  and  fiction  scarcely 
augments  the  beauty  of  truth ;  where  the  graces  of 
Christianity  are  set  forth  as  by  the  hand  of  a  master,  and 
the  prospects  of  heaven  are  painted  as  with  the  pencil 


ELIZABETH   BUNYAN.  323 

of  one  who  had  "  looked  within  the  veil,"  and  seen  and 
heard  unutterable  things.  So  the  muse  of  Cowper : 

"  Ingenious  dreamer,  in  whose  well-told  tale 
Sweet  fiction  and  sweet  truth  alike  prevail ; 
Whose  humorous  vein,  strong  sense,  and  simple  style 
May  teach  the  gayest,  make  the  gravest  smile ; 
Witty  and  well  employed,  and  like  thy  Lord, 
Speaking  in  parables  his  slighted  word !" 

The  world  has  accepted  this  book,  and  holds  it  as  a 
cherished  gift.  It  has  stamped  the  seal  of  immortality 
upon  it,  and  will  hand  it  down  to  the  latest  posterity. 
The  tinker  of  Elstowe  has  become  the  teacher  of  man 
kind,  and  while  the  names  of  his  narrow-minded,  big 
oted  persecutors  are  moldering  in  oblivion,  his  own  is 
inscribed  on  that  loftiest  column  in  the  temple  of  sacred 
fame,  around  which  is  wreathed  in  grace  and  beauty 
the  amaranth — the  symbol  of  the  unfading  and  the  im 
perishable. 


324  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


XXXVII, 
.John  Sntnmerfieib. 

To  NAME  this  youth — whose  grave  is  with  us — whose 
spirit,  not  so  much  departed  as  disembodied,  seems  to 
hover  near  us,  is  to  awaken  in  many  bosoms  senti 
ments  of  the  strongest  enthusiasm.  That  memory  with 
which  the  Creator  has  endowed  us  is  indeed  a  wonder 
ful  faculty.  It  may  be  called  the  mind's  sculptor,  as 
the  imagination  is  its  painter.  How  in  its  deep  and 
invisible  recesses  it  chisels  the  mind's  thoughts,  fancies, 
reasonings,  and  even  sentiments  and  passions  !  How 
it  secures  beyond  the  reach  of  time  and  the  ravages  of 
death,  the  form,  the  face,  the  very  features  of  those  we 
love !  In  solitude  it  enables  us  to  think  of  them  at  • 
pleasure ;  in  society  to  honor  their  names  with  a  tender 
tribute ;  in  our  very  dreams  to  recall  the  image,  that 
cannot  fade  from  the  canvas  of  the  mind.  This  is  one 
of  the  compensations  granted  us  for  the  inevitable  sor 
rows  of  our  mortal  state.  Not  only  does  hope  beckon 
us  onward  to  a  better  land,  but  memory  refreshes  us 
with  exhilarating  views  of  the  past,  and  even  its  shad 
ows  and  sorrows  seem  mellowed  in  the  distance  as  we 
look  back  upon  them  from  some  advanced  point  of  our 
pathway.  "  Sorrow  touched  by  thee  grows  bright"  is 
not  a  line  of  mere  fancy's  creation.  It  is  a  sketch  from 
nature.  Living  forms  abide  but  a  brief  period  with  us. 
How  many  of  our  friends  are  numbered  with  the  dead ! 


JOHN    SUMMERFIKLD.  325 


If  we  attempt  to  count  them,  the  swelling  catalogue 
surprises  us. 

Twenty-six  years  ago  there  was  one  among  us,  a 
public  man,  a  minister  of  Christ,  who  captivated  all 
hearts.  A  foreigner  by  birth,  of  humble  origin,  he 
sojourned  but  a  short  time  among  us,  yet  created  an 
interest  which  has  maintained  an  undiminished  energy 
to  the  present  period.  The  early  death  of  highly  gifted 
and  promising  men  is  often  called  mysterious.  But 
what  is  a  mystery?  Something  which  cannot  be  ex 
plained  to  the  human  understanding.  If  our  under 
standings  were  sufficiently  capacioiis  and  our  knowl 
edge  sufficiently  extensive  to  comprehend  the  things  of 
the  invisible  \vorld,  all  these  things  might  be  cleared 
up.  Why  Kirke  White  was  stricken  down  at  twenty- 
nine,  Brainerd  at  thirty,  Larned  at  twenty-four,  and 
Spencer  at  about  the  same  age,  is  not  for  us  to  decide. 

When  Summerfield  was  informed  by -his  physician 
that  he  could  not  long  survive,  "  Oh,"  said  he,  lifting 
his  hands,  "  Oh,  that  I  might  live  to  the  age  of  Jesus 
Christ  /  nevertheless, '  not  my  icill,  l>ut  thine  oe  done.'  " 

He  lived,  however,  sufficiently  long  to  produce  a 
powerful  and  wide-spread  impression  on  the  public 
mind  in  England  and  America.  That  impression,  dura 
ble  as  it  is,  is  not  the  result  of  any  published  sermons. 
It  is  not  the  eloquence  of  the  printed  page,  but  the  liv 
ing  orator,  that  has  held  the  recollection  of  the  many 
who  heard  him  as  in  a  kind  of  enchantment  for  so  long 
a  time. 

The  poet  Montgomery,  in  speaking  of  the  subject  of 
this  sketch,  said : 

"Every  attempt  to  present  on  paper  the  splendid 


GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 


effects  of  impassioned  eloquence  is  like  gathering  up 
dew-drops,  which  appear  jewels  and  pearls  on  the  grass, 
but  run  to  water  in  the  hands  ;  the  essence  and  the  ele 
ments  remain,  but  the  grace,  the  sparkle,  and  form  are 
gone." 

Said  like  a  poet !  There  are  some  things  that  can 
neither  be  painted  nor  printed.  The  variable  expres 
sion  of  the  living  eye,  that  wonderful  organ  of  divine 
creation  ;  the  changing  lights  and  shades  of  the  human 
countenance,  through  which  the  soul  of  thought  com 
municates  itself  with  electric  energy ;  the  music  of  a 
voice  whose  various  intonations  alternately  soothe  or 
sadden,  elevate  or  depress,  agitate  or  tranquilize  the 
hearer;  the  diversified  movements  of  the  frame,  de 
nominated  by  the  Athenian  orator,  action,  action, 
action  /  and  by  Quinctilian,  eloquentia  corporis,  so  ex 
pressive  of  the  inward  workings  of  the  mind ;  these  are 
the  indescribable,  as  they  are  the  untransferable  attri 
butes  of  genius.  He  that  can  seize  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  or  write  down  the  "  music  of  the  spheres/' 
may  catch  and  communicate  the  ethereal  and  spiritual 
of  eloquence.  I  shall  not  be  accused  of  using  improper 
language  when  I  say  that  the  eloquence  of  the  pulpit 
is  a  sacred  art ;  for  as  all  art  is  founded  in  science,  this 
has  its  foundation  in  the  most  sublime  of  all  sciences, 
that  of  theology.  The  principles  of  mathematical  sci 
ence  and  of  natural  philosophy  serve  as  a  foundation 
on  which  the  useful  superstructure  of  certain  arts  is 
erected.  The  practical  results  of  these  principles  are 
diffused  throughout  society  for  its  benefit.  The  prin 
ciples  of  moral  philosophy  also  conduce  to  their  appro 
priate  system  of  practice.  The  practice  of  sacred  elo- 


JOHN    SUMMEEFIELD.  327 

quence  must  also  flow  from  pre-established  principles. 
And  since  these  principles  transcend  in  weight  and 
value  those  of  every  other  art,  it  follows  that  they  de 
serve  our  careful  attention,  and  should  command  our 
profound  reverence. 

What,  then,  is  eloquence  ?  The  art  of  speaking  well. 
What  is  sacred  eloquence  ?  The  art  of  speaking  well 
on  sacred  subjects.  Definitions  more  diffuse  and  exe- 
getical  might  be  given,  but  this  one  may  answer  all 
practical  purposes,  if  it  do  not  comprehend  all  that  is 
true  in  relation  to  the  subject.  Speaking  audibly  is 
not  essential  to  real  eloquence.  It  may  exist  in  the 
imagination  of  the  poet,  while  his  eye  is  "  in  a  fine 
frenzy  rolling,"  and  in  the  recesses  of  his  own  glowing 
soul  he  may  survey  with  wonder  and  delight  the  vari 
ous  splendid  images,  which  by  the  mysterious  energy 
of  genius  have  started  into  life.  It  may  silently  charm 
the  unconscious  eye,  which,  intensely  fixed,  drinks  in 
the  beauties  which,  emanating  from  some  master  mind, 
have  passed  from  the  pencil  to  the  canvas.  It  may 
speed  itself  to  the  heart  in  a  single  look  from  the  "hu 
man  face  divine,"  as  was  emphatically  true  when  the 
illustrious  Saviour  looked  upon  his  faithful  and  fallen 
Peter,  melting  him  by  one  -irresistible  glance  to  a  weep 
ing  child ;  as  is  seen  in  the  imploring  look  of»suffering 
infancy  ;  in  the  aspect  of  injured  innocence,  or,  in  fine, 
in  the  sublime  expression  which  the  excited  soul  of  a, 
truly  great  and  virtuous  man  throws  into  his  features. 

Tliis  was  a  part  of  the  eloquence  of  Summerfield. 
In  the  day  of  his  strength,  that  well-remembered  coun 
tenance  did  at  times  (I  speak  with  reverent  allusion,) 
appear  .as  if  in  a  kind  of  holy  transfiguration,  pouring 


328  GLKANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

forth  the  light  of  a  soul  that  had  held  high  communion 
with  Heaven.  Dr.  Nevins,  a  friend  and  associate  in 
life,  and  now  a  fellow-sleeper  in  death,  said : 

"  I  anticipate  that  the  best  written  memoir  of  him 
will  be  to  the  living,  speaking,  and  acting  Summer- 
field,  very  much  what  his  best  printed  discourse  was  to 
the  unwritten  eloquence  he  used  to  pour  forth  from  his 
heart  in  his  most  ordinary  sermons ;  for  the  eloquence 
of  our  friend  was  pre-eminently  that  of  the  heart.  It 
was  the  oratory  of  nature ;  and  I  have  often  remarked 
that  in  any  age,  in  any  country,  in  any  language,  and 
under  all  circumstances,  he  would  have  been  the  same 
magic  master  of  the  human  heart  that  we  felt  him 
to  be." 

It  is  said  of  TVhitefield  that  he  would  sometimes  rise 
in  the  desk,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  looking  in  dead 
silence  around  on  his  vast  audience,  as  if  salvation  or 
perdition  teemed  in  every  cast  of  his  eye,  would  burst 
into  tears,  while  the  swift  contagion,  ere  he  uttered  a 
word,  had  reached  every  heart  that  could  feel,  and 
dimmed  every  eye  that  could  weep. 

Domina  rerum  eloquentice  vis,  says  Quinctilian  ;  the 
power  of  eloquence  controls  every  thing,  and  the  general 
truth  has  been  exemplified  at  the  bar,  in  the  legislative 
assembly,  at  the  head  of  armies,  in  the  popular  convo 
cation,  and  in  the  pulpit.  Men  are  fond  of  impulse, 
and  some  gifted  spirits  know  wTell  how  to  reach  it  in 
man.  Summerfield  was  not  of  the  vehement  class  of 
orators ;  his  was  not  a  daring  and  impetuous  spirit. 
He  rather  chose  to  touch  the  tender  chords  of  feeling, 
and  awake  the  softer  music  of  the  human  soul.  This 
quality  of  tenderness  in  the  young  preacher  seemed 


JOHN    SUMMKRFIELD.  329 

almost  insensibly  to  run  into  a  shade  of  melancholy ; 
whether  from  the  strength  of  his  sympathy  for  the 
afflictions  of  humanity,  or  from  a  prevailing  mental  im 
pression,  deepened  by  a  knowledge  of  the  delicate  con 
dition  of  his  own  physical  frame,  that  Heaven  had  de 
creed  to  him  a  brief  career  on  earth,  or  from  a  com 
bination  of  both  these  causes,  the  effect  was  as  manifest 
as  the  presentiment  was  certain.  The  interest  which 
the  natural  expression  of  his  countenance  excited  was 
heightened  by  that  cadaverous  paleness,  which  spread 
its  premonitory  hue  over  it,  too  palpable  not  to  alarm 
his  friends  : 

"  For  in  his  garland  as  he  stood 
Ye  might  discern  the  cypress  bud" 

The  chaplet  of  his  youthful  fame  was  indeed  green 
around  his  brow,  but  there  was  interwoven  a  dark  leaf, 
which  intimated  too  plainly  that  the  finger  of  death 
was  there. 

Summerfield  felt  a  strong  attachment  to  children. 
To  love  and  sympathize  with  such  is  said  to  be  a  happy 
symptom  of  our  moral  being ;  to  indicate  a  pure,  duc 
tile,  and  generous  nature ;  to  be  evidential  of  an  in 
genuous  and  childlike  spirit  in  him,  who  can  blend  his 
own  feelings  with  those  of  the  little  ones,  model  the 
images  of  his  own  mind  so  as  to  charm  their  young 
fancies,  and  hold  the  lamp  of  his  reason  in  such  a  po 
sition  that  they  can  walk  by  its  light.  Children  are 
the  flowers  of  human  existence.  He  that  is  insensible 
to  their  tender  beauty,  or  does  not  relish  their  delicate 
sweetness,  will  take  110  pleasure  in  bestowing  the  hand 
of  culture  upon  them.  To  win  the  hearts  of  children 


330  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

is  no  mean  conquest.  Summerfield  discharged  this 
branch  of  ministerial  duty  with  superior  grace  and  suc 
cess.  He  seemed  to  impart  his  soul  to  their  souls  ;  to 
descend  from  the  dignity  and  precision  of  a  more  elab 
orate  style,  and  suit  his  thoughts,  words,  figures,  and 
feelings  to  their  capacities.  It  was,  in  the  soft  and  ex 
pressive  language  of  Scripture,  "  as  the  small  rain  upon 
the  tender  herb,  and  as  the  showers  upon  the  grass," 
that  his  doctrine  then  "  distilled"  from  his  lips.  He 
announced  his  text — let  his  face  relax  into  one  of  those 
sweet  smiles  peculiar  to  him — looked  benevolently 
round  on  the  vast  assemblage  of  children  (who  thronged 
a  church  in  Baltimore)  before  him,  and  seeming  to  feel 
something  kindling  within,  exclaimed  in  a  mixed  tone 
of  question  and  assertion  by  way  of  exordium,  "  That 
is  a  sweet  text,  is  it  not?"  The  effect  was  electrical. 
A  thousand  little  faces  glittered  with  smiles,  as  if  re 
flecting  the  expression  of  the  fine  original  that  beamed 
before  them.  It  was  as  if  the  hand  of  a  skilful  master 
had  swept  over  an  instrument  of  a  thousand  strings, 
creating  wondrous  harmony  without  the  intermixture 
of  a  single  discordant  note.  One  thrill  of  ecstatic  emo 
tion  seemed  to  shoot  through  all  hearts. 
•  And  then  he  went  on  in  his  own  inimitable  strain  of 
eloquence  to  portray  the  character  of  young  Samuel, 
touching  the  picture  with  tint  after  tint,  as  if  he  held 
some  celestial  pencil,  sketching  each  successive  trait 
with  a  masterly  hand,  and  completing  the  whole  in  a 
style  of  such  chaste  and  glowing  beauty,  as  held  us  all 
captive  to  that  mysterious  power  which  rules  in  the 
empire  of  mind.  It  was  a  noble  effort  of  sanctified 
genius,  the  recollections  of  which  must  still  linger  in 


JOHN   SUMHERFIELD.  331 

the  memory  of  those  who  heard  it,  though  the  voice  of 
the  charmer  has  long  since  been  hushed  in  the  silence 
of  the  grave,  and  the  harp  of  the  minstrel  that  dis 
coursed  such  sweet  music  has  been  broken  by  the  hand 
of  death.  One  cannot  but  think  of  a  beautiful  vase  of 
roses,  which,  though  riven  into  fragments,  and  given  to 
the  dust,  still  yields  its  fragrance ;  even  so  as  when 

"  On  the  cold  cheek  of  death  smiles  and  roses  are  blending, 
And  beauty  immortal  awakes  from  the  tomb." 

This  eminent  preacher  has  been  compared  to  White- 
field,  but  erroneously.  He  was  earnest,  but  not  like 
him,  impetuous.  He  did  not,  like  that  celebrated 
preacher,  storm  the  kingdom  of  Satan,  and  carry  it  at 
the  point  of  the  sword,  but  he  was  always  an  example 
of  courage  and  conduct  to  the  "  sacramental  host  of 
God's  elect,"  and  maintained  the  cause  of  the  Redeem 
er,  if  not  by  direct  and  overwhelming  attacks  on  the 
enemy,  by  strengthening  the  hands  of  the  friends  of  the 
cause.  He  proved  the  high  virtues  of  affection  in  the 
pulpit.  Not  that  he  daintily  wreathed  the  sword  of 
the  Spirit  with  flowers,  using  it  as  a  fancy  weapon 
to  exhibit  his  theological  dexterity,  but  he  aimed  to 
conquer  by  LOVE,  the  gentlest,  strongest,  holiest,  and 
most  effectual  instrument  in  the  whole  armory  of 
heaven. 

"VVhitefield  was  not  deficient  in  tenderness  ;  his  path 
to  the  sinner's  heart  was  often  wet  with  tears ;  but  he 
struck  everywhere  ;  he  swung  his  glittering  weapon  in 
every  direction,  and  it  was  all  one  with  him  to  preach 
in  the  cushioned  and  carpeted  pulpit  to  lords,  ladies, 
and  gentlemen,  or  to  encounter  a  mob  of  stage-players 


332  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

and  merry-andrews  in  the  open  field.  He  insisted  on 
instant,  visible,  decisive  action  in  his  hearers.  All  was 
commotion  where  he  moved.  The  very  earth  would 
seem  to  be  shaken  with  the  thunder  of  his  eloquence ; 
the  heavens  seemed,  in  the  bold  metaphor  of  Isaiah,  to 
"  drop  down  from  above,  and  the  skies  to  pour  down 
righteousness,"  when  lie  set  the  trumpet  of  the  Gospel 
to  his  lips,  and  made  the  notes  of  salvation  or  perdition 
ring  in  the  ears  of  dying  men.  Such  unwonted  sounds 
startled  the  multitude  into  life,  rousing  energies  that 
were  forthwith  enlisted  either  for  or  against  the  mighty 
cause  which  he  advocated  with  the  boldness  and  fervor 
of  one  who  had  received  immediate  commission  from 
Heaven.  His  sacred  ambition  was  content  with  noth 
ing  short  of  the  conquest  of  thousands. 

The  qualities  of  Summerfield's  preaching  were  differ 
ent  from  these.  His  was  a  strong,  but  not  a  vehement 
spirit.  In  him  there  was  more  of  the  light  than  of  the 
fire  of  truth.  It  did  not  leap  from  him  in  flashing  cor 
uscations.  It  rather  emanated  in  a  mild  radiance,  soft 
ening  and  subduing  all  hearts. 

"  By  him,  in  strains  as  sweet 
As  angels  use,  the  Gospel  whispered  peace." 

At  a  near  view  nothing  remarkable  could  be  discov 
ered  in  his  face,  but  when  he  reached  the  sacred  desk, 
and  stood  there  "  the  messenger  of  God,  the  legate  of 
the  skies,"  he  appeared  to  have  passed  through  a  kind 
of  transformation — I  might  call  it  a  transfiguration  but 
for  the  sacred  appropriation  of  that  sublime  term ;  it 
was  a  change  well  befitting  the  place  and  the  occasion. 
His  countenance  shone  with  the  lustre  of  him  whose 


JOHN   SUMMERFIELD.  333 

habit  was  that  of  one  "communing  with  the  skies." 
To  borrow  an  illustration  from  the  sister  arts,  the  pic 
tures  which  he  drew,  like  those  of  Titian,  were  grace 
ful,  delicate,  and  truthful  as  nature  itself;  while  those 
of  Whitefield,  like  the  paintings  of  Michael  Angelo, 
were  bold,  vivid,  and  sublime  even  to  the  height  of 
terror,  though  not  beyond  that  of  truth,  if  all  the 
truth  on  these  awful  subjects  could  be  known.  The 
illustrious  painter  last  mentioned  declared  of  the  for 
mer  that  "  if  he  had  studied  amid  the  masterpieces 
of  antiquity,  he  would  have  eclipsed  all  the  painters  in 
the  world."  I  will  not  say  that  if  Summerfield  had 
lived  and  studied  profoundly  he  would  have  eclipsed 
all  other  preachers  ;  but  he  would  have  found  an  ele 
vated  place  somewhere  in  the  diadem  of  consecrated 
glory,  "  the  royal  diadem  in  the  hand  of  God,"  where 
he  would  have  shone  with  no  ordinary  brightness. 

Whitefield  was  in  sacred  eloquence  what  Handel 
was  in  sacred  music.  There  was  an  air,  a  soul,  and  a 
•movement  in  his  oratory,  which,  as  already  hinted,  cre 
ated  indescribable  emotion  in  his  vast  assemblies,  and 
if  Handel,  with  a  thousand  auxiliary  voices  and  instru 
ments  astonished  the  multitude  in  Westminster  Abbey 
— even  to  raising  them  on  their  feet — by  the  perform 
ance  of  his  MESSIAH,  Whitefield  did  greater  wonders  in 
his  single  person  by  preaching  the  Messiah  to  the  im 
mense  crowds  in  Tottenham  Court  Road  and  Moor- 
fields.  On  the  other  hand,  Summerfield  may  be  com 
pared  to  Mozart,  rich,  tender,  pensive,  and  pathetic ; 
and  like  that  great  master,  who  is  said  to  have  com 
posed  his  own  requiem,  seeming  in  some  of  his  last  ef 
forts  to  be  preaching  his  own  funeral  sermon.  The 


334:  GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

success  of  the  former  was,  I  had  almost  said,  without 
bounds  till  death,  which  puts  a  period  to  every  thing 
earthly,  sealed  his  labors,  and  sent  him  to  their  reward. 
The  success  of  the  latter  was  necessarily  more  limited, 
for  his  life  was  indeed  a  span,  though  a  noble  one. 
Such  minds  of  ethereal  flame  often  spring  most  quickly 
to  their  heavenly  source.  If  those  thus  planted  in  the 
house  of  the  Lord  do  flourish  in  the  courts  of  our  Grod, 
how  transient  their  bloom  and  beauty  ! 

"  Like  a  tree 

That  with  the  weight  of  its  own  golden  fruitage 
Stoops  gently  to  the  dust." 

Seven  brief  years  completed  his  ministerial  career, 
while  that  of  the  immortal  master  of  pulpit  eloquence 
was  protracted  through  a  whole  generation,  which  he 
so  faithfully  "  served"  till  the  very  hour  when  he  "  fell 
asleep ;"  a  generation  on  which  he  exerted  so  mighty 
an  influence  to  the  day  when  he  descended  from  the 
pulpit  for  the  last  time,  and  was  unrobed  for  his  dying- 
bed. 

The  subject  of  this  sketch  can  never  be  forgotten  by 
those  who  beheld  his  successful  labors  in  the  cause  of 
benevolence ;  for  young  as  he  was,  he  was  a  distin 
guished  and  influential  patron  of  the  various  religious 
societies  which  form  so  brilliant  an  era  in  the  com 
mencement  of  the  present  century.  How  great  was  the 
blank  created  in  the  "  feast  of  weeks,"  as  he  was  accus 
tomed  to  call  the  May  anniversaries  !  For  meetings  of 
this  character  he  possessed  a  peculiar  aptitude.  It  was 
on  such  occasions  that  he  appeared  as  one  in  whom  the 
spirit  of  charity  was  blended  in  beautiful  alliance  with 


JOHN    SUMMERFIELD.  335 

the  soul  of  genius  and  eloquence ;  arid  by  the  charm  of 
this  consecrated  union  did  he  hold  captive  the  hearts  of 
listening  thousands. 

His  first  speech  after  his  arrival  in  this  country,  which 
was  before  the  American  Bible  Society,  awoke  a  thrill 
of  admiring  surprise,  which,  swelling  into  an  expectant 
wonder,  took  strong  possession  of  the  public  mind,  and 
at  once  prepared  the  way  for  those  immense  congrega 
tions  which  assembled  to  hear  whenever  it  was  known 
he  was  to  preach.  By  a  kind  of  natural  and  unani 
mous  consent,  the  voice  of  the  public  became  the  unso 
licited  herald  of  his  preaching.  The  question  was  not 
when  or  where — that  was  speedily  known — but  how 
shall  we  get  a  seat,  or  a  stand  ?  Hours  were  patiently 
waited  by  many  for  the  sake  of  a  convenient  seat, 
and  they  thought  themselves  amply  repaid  by  the 
preacher. 

His  last  speech  before  his  departure  for  the  "  better 
country"  was  delivered  before  the  American  Tract  So 
ciety  at  its  formation,  and  in  the  same  hall — that  of  the 
New  York  City  Hotel — in  which  he  delivered  his  first. 
But  oh  how  changed  in  1825,  even  from  the  delicate 
youth  of  1821 !  It  was  the  writer's  happiness  to  hear 
him  on  that  memorable  occasion,  and  we  all  felt  or 
feared,  as  we  looked  on  his  fragile  form  and  pale, 
attenuated  features,  that  we  were  listening  to  the  dying 
cadences  of  one  whose  spirit  was  already  attuned  to  the 
harmonies  of  the  Seraphim  in  Heaven.  He  was  seldom 
equaled,  never  surpassed  in  the  ability  with  which,  on 
short  premeditation,  he  conducted  his  part  in  assem 
blies  for  the  promotion  of  charity.  There  was  no  dull 
prosing — no  labored  harangue — no  artificial  display, 


830  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

but  an  easy  and  familiar  address,  always  pertinent, 
generally  arising  out  of  what  had  been  previously  said 
(for  he  usually  spoke  last),  and  often  accompanied  by 
high  dramatic  interest  and  effect.  He  could  suffuse 
the  eyes  of  his  audience  with  tears  or  gild  their  faces 
with  smiles  at  pleasure.  Pictures  of  religious  happi 
ness,  of  filial  and  parental  tenderness,  he  drew  with  a 
masterly  pencil.  There  were  the  soft  tints  of  hope,  the 
full  light  of  assurance,  and  the  dark  shades  of  fear,  all 
brought  out  in  striking  relief  when  he  would  present 
us  the  portrait  of  the  Christian.  The  prosperity  of  the 
Church,  and  the  glory  of  her  Lord  and  King,  were  fa 
vorite  subjects  with  him.  It  was  not  in  logical  acute- 
ness  and  great  argument  that  he  excelled,  but  rather  in 
the  graces  of  thought,  style,  elocution,  and  action.  His 
was  not  the  sententious  brevity,  the  terse  diction,  and 
compact  argumentation  of  Wesley,  but  his  taste  was 
delicate  and  correct ;  his  imagination  lively,  brilliant, 
and  discursive,  though  chaste,  as  might  be  expected  in 
one  who  had  so  earnestly  studied  the  poets  of  the  En 
glish  classical  age,  and  who  above  all  had  made  him 
self  familiar  with  the  language  and  spirit  of  the  Bible. 
If  his  thoughts  were  not  original,  their  combinations 
were  often  original  and  striking.  His  metaphors  and 
images  were  managed  without  the  appearance  of  art. 
There  was  no  extravagance  in  his  hyperbole  beyond 
what  a  just  taste  would  sanction.  In  personification 
and  apostrophe  he  sometimes  indulged  with  great  pow 
er  and  effect.  In  climax  he  was  at  times  admirable. 
An  interrogation  or  exclamation  from  his  lips  came 
with  a  spirit  and  meaning  which  evaporated  in  the 
process  of  the  press,  or  of  recital  by  another. 


JOHN    SL'MMtKFIKLD.  337 

One  would  as  soon  think  of  appreciating  the  beau 
ty  and  excellence  of  a  piece  of  music  by  reading 
the  notes,  instead  of  hearing  it  performed  by  the 
master-composer.  He  reminded  us  of  Cicero's  defi 
nition  of  an  eloquent  man :  Eloqui  composite,  ornate, 
copiose,  oratoris  est ;  for  orderly  arrangement,  chaste 
and  ornamental  imagery,  and  copiousness  of  thought 
and  expression,  were  predominant  qualities  in  his  ora 
tory. 

His  familiarity  with  the  English  Bible — for  he  did 
not  claim  to  be  deeply  learned  in  the  languages — gave 
him  immense  advantage  in  preaching.  So  gracefully 
was  its  diction  interwoven  with  the  structure  of  his 
discourse,  "  like  apples  of  gold  in  a  network  of  silver," 
that  the  whole  came  with  the  beauty  and  energy  of  in 
spiration.  For  example : 

At  a  public  missionary  meeting  in  Baltimore,  a  dis 
tinguished  preacher,  who  preceded  him,  concluded  an 
able  speech  thus : 

"  I  will  not  detain  you  longer.  I  know  the  anxiety 
of  the  audience  to  enjoy  the  rich  feast  that  is  to  follow, 
and  I  wish  to  enjoy  it  with  them.  "We  have  reserved 
the  best  wine  to  the  last." 

His  imagination  kindled  at  the  allusion.  He  arose, 
and  looking  round  on  the  immense  congregation, 
said: 

"  The  gentleman  says  '  he  has  reserved  the  best  wine 
till  the  last.'  This  is  inverting  the  order  of  the  feast ; 
'  every  man  at  the  beginning  doth  set  forth  the  good 
wine,  and  when  men  have  well  drunk,  then  that 
which  is  worse ;'  but  I  have  not  the  worse  wine  to 
offer  you,  mine  is  mere  water,  but  if  the  master  of 

15 


338  GLEANINGS    AND    GKOUPINGS. 


the  feast  should  deign  to  touch  the  water,  and  turn 
it  to  wine,  it  may  be  the  very  best  wine ;  but  recol 
lect,  my  friends,  the  excellency  would  not  be  of  man, 
but  of  God." 

So  when  at  the  meeting  of  the  American  Bible  Soci 
ety  in  ]STew  York,  the  venerable  president,  Elias  Bou- 
dinot,  his  head  silvered  over  with  the  frost  of  a  spark 
ling  old  age,  and  his  form  bending  under  the  weight  of 
well-spent  years,  moved  with  feeble  step  but  with  an 
animated  soul  to  take  the  chair,  Summerlield,  seizing 
the  interest  of  the  passing  scene,  as  he  rose  to  speak, 
said  : 

"  When  I  saw  that  venerable  man,  too  aged  to  war 
rant  the  hope  of  being  with  you  at  another  anniversary, 
he  reminded  me  of  Jacob  leaning  upon  the  top  of  his 
staff,  blessing  Ms  children  before  he  departed  /"  Then 
adverting  to  the  progress  of  the  cause  in  England  and 
America,  he  added : 

"  When  we  first  launched  our  untried  vessel  on  the 
deep,  the  storms  of  opposition  roared,  and  the  waves 
dashed  angrily  around  us,  and  we  had  hard  work  to 
keep  her  head  to  the  wind ;  we  were  faint  with  rowing, 
and  our  strength  would  soon  have  been  gone,  but  we 
cried,  '  Lord,  save  us,  or  we  perish  /'  when  a  light  shone 
upon  the  waters,  and  we  saw  a  form  walking  upon  the 
troubled  sea,  like  unto  that  of  the  Son  of  God,  and  he 
drew  near  the  ship,  and  we  knew  that  it  was  JESUS  ! 
And  he  stepped  upon  the  deck,  and  laid  his  hand  on 
the  helm,  and  he  said  unto  the  winds  and  the  waves, 
'  Peace,  be  still !  and  there  was  a  great  calm ! ' " 

"  Wonderful,  wonderful !"  exclaimed  a  cool  critic, 
who  had  expected  little  from  the  stripling,  yet  unknown 


JOHN    SUMMKRKIKLD.  339 

to  American  fume,  succeeding  a  powerful  speaker  of 
ripe  intellect,  and  a  logical  and  finished  eloquence,  who 
had  just  sat  down  amid  murmurs  of  applause;  "he 
talks  like  an  angel  from  Heaven."  The  breath  of  the 
young  orator's  eloquence  had  scattered  his  prejudices 
to  the  winds,  and  awakened  in  their  stead  the  most  en 
thusiastic  enlogium.  It  was  a  heartfelt  tribute  to  the 
natural,  inimitable  eloquence  of  the  man.  When  to 
such  sentiments,  so  finely  expressed,  we  add  the  charm 
of  the  voice,  the  eye,  the  gesture,  the  person,  the  whole 
manner,  all  admirably  adapted  to  them,  we  may  imag 
ine  how  complete  and  overpowering  was  the  impression 
made  on  an  assembly  of  minds  linked  together  by  a 
common  sympathy,  while  one  magic  hand  struck  that 
wondrous  chord,  that  trembled  with  ecstasy  in  every 
responsive  bosom. 

The  death  of  this  amiable  young  man,  which  was  in 
keeping  with  his  life,  took  place  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  on  the  13th  of  June,  1825.  On  the  previous 
night  a  beloved  sister  approached  his  bed,  and  imprint 
ing  the  kiss  of  affection  on  his  wan  and  pallid  cheek, 
bade  him  " good-night"  He  responded  in  feeble,  but 
affectionate  accents,  "  Good-night"  These  were  his  last 
words.  He  continued  gently  to  sink  away  till  he  fell 
asleep  in  Jesus. 

The  concourse  of  people  that  attended  his  funeral 
was  immense.  His  body  reposes  in  the  Methodist 
burial-ground  in  Brooklyn,  and  on  his  grave  rests  a 
monumental  tablet  with  the  following  inscription  com 
posed  by  the  writer  of  this  sketch,  at  the  request  of  his 
friends,  which  he  will  be  pardoned  for  subjoining,  as  a 
suitable  conclusion  of  his  reminiscences  : 


340  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 


Sacred  to  the  Memory 
of 

THE  KEY.  JOHN  SL'MMERFIELD,  A.  M., 

Mt.  27 ; 

A  Preacher  of  the  Methodist  Connection ; 

Born  in  England — born  again  in  Ireland ; 

By  the  first  a  child  of  Genius ;  by  the  second  a  child 

of  God; 
Called  to  preach  the  Gospel  at  the  age  of  nineteen, 

In  England,  Ireland,  and  America. 
Himself  the  Spiritual  Father  of  a  numerous  and 

happy  family. 
At   this   Tomb 

Genius,  Eloquence,  and  Religion  mingle  their  tears. 

Holy  in  life,  ardent  in  love  and  incessant  in  labor. 

He  was  to  the  Church  a  pattern,  to  sinful  man 

an  angel  of  mercy,  to  the  world  a  blessing 

In  him  were  rarely  combined  gentleness 

and  energy : 

By  the  one  attracting  universal  love, 

By  the  other  diffusing  happiness  around  him. 

Singular    sweetness    and    simplicity    of  manners, 

Inimitable  eloquence  in  the  pulpit, 

Natural,  graceful,  and  fervent, 
Rendered  him  the  charm  of  the  social  circle  and 

the  idol  of  the  popular  assembly. 
Unon  the  lips  that  moulder  beneath  this  marble 

Thousands  hung  in  silent  wonder. 
His  element  was  not  the  breath  of  fame, 

But  the  communion  and  favor  of  God. 
He  closed  a  scene  of  patient  suffering,  and 

slept  in  Jesus, 

In  the  City  of  New  York, 

On  the  13th  day  of  June,  1825. 

By  Faith  he  lived  on  earth, 

In  Hope  he  died, 
By  Love  he  lives  in  Heaven. 


REV.    SYLVESTER    LARNED,  341 


XXXVIII, 

Corned 


THE  celebrated  Robert  Hall  said  of  a  youth  who  early 
deceased:  "The  admiration  he  excited  while  living, 
and  the  deep  and  universal  concern  expressed  at  his 
death,  demonstrate  him  to  have  been  no  ordinary  char 
acter  ;  but  one  of  those  rare  specimens  of  human  nature 
which  the  great  Author  of  it  produces  at  distant  inter 
vals,  and  exhibits  for  a  moment,  while  he  is  hastening 
to  incike  them  up  among  his  jewels"  The  remark  is 
applicable  to  the  subject  of  this  sketch.  SYLVESTER 
LARKED  was  a  native  of  Pittsfield,  Berkshire  County, 
Massachusetts.  In  the  midst  of  the  bold  and  beautiful 
scenery  of  that  region  he  first  drew  breath.  There  he 
spent  that  childhood  and  youth,  whose  strong  affections 
were  awakened  amid  communion  with  those  forms  of 
nature  which  are  fitted  to  make  powerful  and  lasting 
impressions  on  minds  of  a  certain  constitution.  How 
beautiful  the  adaptation  of  the  external  works  of  God 
to  that  high-born,  noble,  living  spirit  within,  which 
finds  in  them  the  element  of  a  grand  existence  and  a 
growing  activity,  linking  man  —  mortal  though  he  is  — 
with  those  intelligences,  a  "  little  lower"  than  whom  he 
was  created  !  "  There  is  a  spirit  in  man,  and  the  in 
spiration  of  the  Almighty  giveth  'him  understanding." 
Hence  that  mysterious  thing  called  GENIUS,  the  essence 
of  which  who  can  penetrate  ;  the  effects  of  which  who 
does  not  admire  ?  Poetry  —  what  is  it,  after  all  the  defi- 


34:2  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 


nitions  and  descriptions  to  which  it  has  been  subjected  ? 
What  is  its  cause  ?  Where  dwelleth  the  spirit  of  beau 
ty,  of  which  it  is  born  ?  Hath  the  critic  entered  into 
it,  and  anatomized  it  ?  Eloquence — what  is  its  essence 
— its  nature,  as  separated  from  its  effects?  As  well 
might  investigation  "  enter  into  the  springs  of  the  sea,'' 
or  expound  "the  way  where  light  dwelleth."  Thus 
does  the  Author  of  these  sublime  wonders  challenge 
the  limited  capacities  of  man.  Still,  man  is  a  noble 
being,  great  and  majestic  amid  his  moral  ruin.  "Ivare 
specimens"  there  are  among  men  to  attract  interest 
and  awaken  admiration,  though  often  snatched  away 
to  adorn  a  higher  sphere. 

LARNED  was  one  of  these.  He  was  a  child  of  genius, 
and  that  genius  was  developed  at  an  early  period  of 
his  life.  It  shone  out  with  singular  brilliancy  at  the 
age  of  thirteen.  I  mean  that  at  this  age  the  public  were 
first  made  acquainted  with  his  extraordinary  powers, 
though  to  private  circles  he  had  for  some  time  been 
known  as  a  youth  of  excellent  promise.  In  the  presence 
of  a  large  and  enlightened  assembly  he  delivered  at  that 
age  an  oration  on  the  4rth  of  July,  which  excited  the 
public  wonder.  Here  were  the  elements,  I  was  about 
to  say,  of  the  future  orator ;  but  there  was  the  orator 
himself,  young  indeed,  his  education  just  commenced, 
but  exhibiting  the  traits  and  qualifications  in  an  in 
cipient  state,  which  in  riper  years  might  be  expected 
to  stamp  him  as  an  extraordinary  man.  We  beheld  in 
him  at  this  period  of  adolescence  a  deep  and  strong 
enthusiasm,  a  bold  and  manly  decision  of  character,  a 
certain  fearless  advocacy  of  free  and  patriotic  senti 
ments,  an  inextinguishable  love  of  country,  an  energetic 


REV.    SYLVESTER    LARNED.  343 

sympathy  for  classic  modes  of  thought,  and  a  way  of 
giving  utterance  to  the  teeming  conceptions  of  his  in 
tellect,  which  strangely  captivated  his  hearers.  Flu 
ency  of  expression  is  sometimes  an  evidence  of  weak 
ness  rather  than  of  strength,  but  in  young  Lamed  it 
was  combined  with  a  vigor  of  thought,  evidencing  that 
among  the  constituents  of  his  genius  there  were  two 
qualities  which  reflected  a  strong  interest  on  each 
other,  while  they  harmonized  in  a  very  delightful  man 
ner.  His  mind  seemed  to  turn  with  ardor  to  scenes 
and  subjects  that  awakened  patriotic  recollections ;  to 
the  struggles  of  the  spirit  of  freedom  with  the  dark 
genius  of  despotism  in  whatever  form ;  perhaps  be 
cause  his  childhood  was  so  near  the  period  of  our  own 
Revolution,  and  he  had  heard  from  the  lips  of  his  fa 
ther,  who  was  one  of  the  actors  in  that  immortal  drama 
(Colonel  Simon  Larned,  also  commander  of  the  9th 
Regiment  of  Infantry  in  the  last  war),  the  story  of 
that  conflict  which  issued  in  the  establishment  of  the 
North  American  Republic.  In  the  history  of  that 
struggle  there  is  deep  and  instructive  philosophy.  It 
wras  no  wild  and  sudden  outbreak  of  popular  fury ;  no 
aimless  insurrection  of  an  undisciplined  mob.  It  was 
the  serene,  steadfast,  and  determined  uprising  of  an  in 
telligent  people,  who  had  studied  their  rights,  as  Pym 
and  Hampden  studied  theirs,  in  the  inspired  Book  of 
God,  and  the  equally  inspired  dictates  of  eternal  recti 
tude.  The  seeds  of  the  conflict  \vere  indeed  sown  two 
hundred  years  before  the  bursting  forth  and  the  branch 
ing  out  of  the  mighty  tree  that  now  overshadows  this 
western  continent. 

The  subject  of  Larned's  oration  at  the  commence- 


344  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

ment  at  Middlebury  College  was  the  "  Fall  of  Poland," 
on  which  he  uttered  the  sentiments  of  his  heart  in  a 
tone  of  lofty  enthusiasm,  that  would  have  done  honor 
to  the  ardent  and  patriotic  muse  of  Thomas  Campbell. 
For  in  the  bosom  of  the  true  orator  must  dwell  the  soul 
of  the  poet,  however  unused  he  may  be  to  rhyme, 
which  is  but  the  fettering  the  living  forms  of  poetry. 
The  great  kings  in  the  empire  of  imagination  have  re 
fused  subjection  to  the  rhyme.  Isaiah,  Homer,  Virgil, 
Milton,  how  could  they  set  forth  the  august  concep 
tions  of  their  minds  in  fetters  ?  How  could  they  man 
acle  the  beautiful  and  noble  offspring  of  their  imagina 
tions  ?  So  the  orator  is  free  as  the  air  he  breathes,  and 
in  his  freedom  pours  forth  things  that  rouse,  animate, 
and  kindle  up  the  souls  of  those  whom  he  addresses. 
"No  discourse  can  be  eloquent,"  says  Goldsmith,* 
"  that  does  not  elevate  the  mind.  Pathetic  eloquence, 
it  is  true,  has  for  its  object  only  to  affect ;  but  I  appeal 
to  men  of  sensibility,  whether  their  pathetic  feelings 
are  not  accompanied  with  some  degree  of  elevation. 
We  may  then  call  eloquence  and  sublimity  the  same 
thing,  since  it  is  impossible  to  be  one  without  feeling 
the  other.  Hence  it  follows  that  we  may  be  eloquent 
in  any  language,  since  no  language  refuses  to  paint 
those  sentiments  wTith  which  we  are  thoroughly  im 
pressed.  Eloquence  is  not  in  the  words,  but  in  the 
subject,  and  in  great  concerns  the  more  simply  any 
thing  is  expressed,  it  is  generally  the  more  sublime. 
True  eloquence  does  not  consist,  as  the  rhetoricians  as 
sure  us,  in  saying  great  things  in  a  sublime  style,  but 


REV.    SYLVESTER   LARKED.  345 

in  a  simple  style ;  for  there  is,  properly  speaking,  no 
such  thing  as  a  sublime  style ;  the  sublimity  lies  only 
in  the  things,  and  when  they  are  not  so,  the  language 
may  be  turgid,  affected,  metaphysical,  but  not  affect 
ing."  In  a  word,  the  elegant  author  of  the  Deserted 
Village  declares  that  man  eloquent  "  who  transfers 
the  passion  or  sentiment  with  which  he  is  moved  him 
self  into  the  breast  of  another."  Such  is  the  art  of  per 
suasion  ;  the  power  of  kindling  impassioned  feelings 
within  bosoms  that  permit  the  orator  to  open  a  com 
munication  with  them,  and  to  speed  the  electric  stream 
from  heart  to  heart.  With  all  this  the  element  of  con 
viction  must  be  strongly  mingled,  for  truth — which  is 
the  instrument  of  conviction — is  required  by  men ;  or, 
at  least  the  imitation  of  truth,  as  in  the  drama,  the 
pictorial  art,  and  some  other  branches  of  intellectual 
and  imaginative  exertion.  "  To  feel  your  subject  thor 
oughly,"  continues  the  same  classic  author,  "and  to 
speak  without  fear,  are  the  only  rules  of  eloquence, 
properly  so  called,  which  I  can  offer.  The  orator  should 
be  strongly  impressed,  which  is  generally  the  effect  of 
a  fine  and  exquisite  sensibility,  and  not  that  transient 
and  superficial  emotion  which  he  excites  in  the  greatest 
part  of  his  audience."  And  who  should  be  so  deeply 
charged  with  this  exquisite  sensibility  as  the  orator  of 
sacred  subjects  ?  So  Cowper : 

"  Much  impressed 

Himself,  as  conscious  of  his  awful  charge, 
And  anxious  mainly  that  the  flock  he  feeds 
May  feel  it  too ;  affectionate  in  look, 
And  tender  in  address,  as  well  becomes 
A  messenger  of  grace  to  guilty  men." 
15* 


346  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

This  is  the  picture  drawn  by  the  poet,  but  that  in  his 
day  it  was  difficult  to  find  originals  to  it  in  England, 
may  be  safely  inferred  from  other  lines  in  the  second 
book  of  the  Task.  And  in  a  previous  generation 
Goldsmith  wrote  :  "  I  have  attended  most  of  our  pul 
pit  orators,  who,  it  must  be  owned,  write  extremely 
well  upon  the  text  they  assume.  To  give  them  their 
due,  also,  they  read  their  sermons  with  elegance  and 
propriety,  but  this  goes  but  a  very  short  way  in  true 
eloquence.  The  speaker  must  be  moved.  In  this,  in 
this  alone  our  English  divines  are  deficient.  "With  the 
most  pretty,  gentleman-like  serenity,  they  deliver  their 
cool  discourses,  and  address  the  reason  of  men  who 
have  never  reasoned  in  all  their  lives.  They  are  told 
of  cause  and  effect,  of  beings  self-existent,  and  the  uni 
versal  scale  of  beings.  They  are  informed  of  the  mer 
its  of  the  Bangorian  controversy,  and  the  absurdity  of 
an  intermediate  state.  The  spruce  preacher  reads 
his  lucubrations  without  lifting  his  nose  from  the 
text,  and  never  ventures  to  earn  the  shame  of  an 
enthusiast." 

With  a  keener  satire  Cowper  takes  up  the  strain  : 

"  Behold  the  picture  !     Is  it  like  ?     Like  whom  ? 
The  things  that  mount  the  rostrum  with  a  skip, 
And  then  skip  down  again ;  pronounce  a  text, 
Cry  hem — and  reading  what  they  never  wrote, 
Just  fifteen  minutes,  huddle  up  their  work, 
And  with  a  well-bred  whisper  close  the  scene !" 

But  while  the  satirist  thus  pointed  his  weapon  at  the 
failings  of  the  clergy,  there  had  already  risen  men  of 
another  stamp,  whom  Providence  had  endowed  with 


REV.    8YLVESTEK    LAKNED.  347 

extraordinary  qualifications  for  an  extraordinary  work. 
Whitefield  and  Wesley  appeared  at  a  critical  period  in 
the  eighteenth  century,  when,  as  Bishop  Butler  said  in 
his  Analogy,  "it  is  come,  I  know  not  how,  to  be 
taken  for  granted  by  many  persons,  that  Christianity 
is  not  so  much  as  a  subject  of  inquiry ;  but  that  it  is 
now  at  length  discovered  to  be  fictitious.  And  accord 
ingly  they  treat  it  as  if  in  the  present  age  this  were  an 
agreed  point  among  all  people  of  discernment;  and 
nothing  remained  but  to  set  it  up  as  a  principal  subject 
of  mirth  and  ridicule,  as  it  were  by  way  of  reprisals 
for  its  having  so  long  interrupted  the  pleasures  of  the 
world."  Then  follows  his  profound  and  immortal  work 
on  the  analogy  of  religion  to  the  constitution  and  course 
of  nature,  so  full  of  the  "  seeds  of  things."  That  sen 
tence  was  written  in  May,  1736.  In  the  preceding 
December  Whitefield  had  been  ordained  to  the  work  of 
the  Gospel  ministry  by  Bishop  Benson,  who  presented 
him  with  five  guineas  in  addition  to  his  episcopal  bless 
ing.  He  had  but  one  written  sermon  with  which  to 
commence  his  career.  After  his  first  sermon  was  preach 
ed,  a  report  was  brought  to  the  Bishop  that  it  had  driv 
en  fifteen  persons  mad  1  The  good  Bishop  replied  that 
he  "  hoped  the  madness  would  not  be  forgotten  before 
the  next  Sunday." 

Goldsmith's  notion  of  the  right  kind  of  preaching 
seemed  realized  in  the  young  candidate  for  sacred  fame. 
"  The  good  preacher  should  adopt  no  model,  write  no 
sermons,  study  no  periods  ;  let  him  but  understand  his 
subject,  the  language  he  speaks,  and  be  convinced  of 
the  truths  he  delivers.  It  is  amazing  to  what  heights 
eloquence  of  this  kind  may  reach.  This  is  that  elo- 


348  GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

quence  the  ancients  represented  as  lightning,  bearing 
down  every  opposer ;  this  is  the  power  which  has  turn 
ed  whole  assemblies  into  astonishment,  admiration,  and 
awe,  that  is  described  by  the  torrent,  the  flame,  and  every 
other  instance  of  irresistible  impetuosity."  In  another 
essay  toward  reforming  the  English  clergy,  he  says : 
"Our  regular  divines  may  borrow  instruction  from  even 
Methodists,  who  go  their  circuits,  and  preach  prizes 
among  the  populace.  Even  Whitefield  may  be  placed  as 
a  model  to  some  of  our  young  divines.  Let  them  join  to 
their  own  good  sense  his  earnest  manner  of  delivery." 
Yes,  there  was  earnestness  in  his  delivery,  and  in  every 
thing  he  undertook.  His  life  was  one  uninterrupted 
exhibition  of  earnestness.  It  was  an  eloquent  life.  Now 
came  a  man  who  met  men  with  a  direct  look ;  address 
ed  their  consciences ;  appealed  to  their  sensibilities ; 
demanded  in  the  name  of  God  the  immediate  discharge 
of  their  high  and  solemn  obligations  to  their  Maker. 
They  who  had  so  long  slumbered  under  easy  sermons 
were  angry  when  those  slumbers  were  disturbed.  They 
hated  to  be  roused,  and  cried  innovation,  extravagance, 
vulgarity.  Prejudice  discolored  and  distorted  every 
action  of  the  zealous  divine.  Pride  was  offended.  Cal 
umny  spared  no  arrows.  Persecution  withheld  no  vio 
lence. 

"  The  very  butt  of  slander,  and  the  blot 
For  every  dart  that  malice  ever  shot." 

Yet  all  that  floating  malaria,  engendered  in  the  bog 
of  human  depravity,  has  long  since  been  swept  away,  and 
a  pure  and  sweet  atmosphere  surrounds  that  venerated 
name,  which  Cowper  said  "  a  poet  must  not  speak," 


REV.    8TLVESTEE   LARNED.  349 

and  therefore  called  nim  Leuconomos  in  "  well-sound 
ing  Greek."  For  such  a  man  to  cross  the  Atlantic 
seventeen  times  in  those  days,  when  the  all  but  mirac 
ulous  steamers  were  in  the  bosom  of  futurity,  was  no 
small  affair,  and  was  followed  by  no  small  results. 

The  influence  of  Whitefield  and  Edwards  on  theology 
and  pulpit  eloquence  in  America  was  immense.  There 
was  in  those  two  men  indeed  "  a  diversity  of  gifts,  but 
the  same  spirit."  The  intellectual  prevailed  in  Ed 
wards  ;  the  impassioned  in  Whitefield.  Pure  truth 
came  forth  from  the  mind  of  the  one,  as  nakedly  de 
monstrated  as  it  ever  was  on  the  pages  of  Newton  and 
Locke.  (Edwards  read  Locke  with  enthusiasm  when  a 
child.)  From  the  soul  of  Whitefield  it  came  forth  ar 
rayed  in  the  gorgeous  robes  of  his  own  many-colored 
imagination;  baptized  in  the  tenderness  of  his  own 
sympathetic  spirit.  At  times,  indeed,  the  thunders  of 
Sinai  seemed  to  shake  the  sacred  desk,  but  the  softer 
music  of  the  harp  of  Zion  was  more  congenial  with  his 
compassionate  spirit ;  though  he  was  always  bold  for 
God,  and  braved  danger  in  every  form  for  the  sake  of 
the  salvation  of  sinners.  It  is  not  strange  that  the 
American  preachers  venerate  even  to  enthusiasm  the 
memory  of  such  a  man,  and  visit  his  dust,  enshrined, 
as  it  is,  in  the  bosom  of  New  England,  with  feelings  of 
indescribable  interest.  His  labors  were  for  us  ;  his  rest 
is  with  us ;  his  example  is  before  us.  The  first  were 
indefatigable;  the  second  is  peaceful;  the  last  glo 
rious. 

No  wonder  that  the  young  American  divine  should 
be  charmed  with  such  a  model.  Larned  beheld,  ad 
mired,  and  resolved  to  imitate.  What  he  might  have 


350  GLEANINGS  AND  GROUPINGS. 

been,  had  he  been  permitted  to*  live,  instead  of  dying 
at  the  age  of  twenty-four — a  stripling  in  years,  though 
even  then  a  giant  in  intellect — unto  what  admirable 
maturity  of  powers  and  distinction  of  achievement  in 
his  great  field  he  would  have  attained,  we  may  now 
conjecture,  but  cannot  certainly  know.  "I  now  re 
member,"  says  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  in  describing 
his  young  friend  Robert  Hall,  "  the  extraordinary  union 
of  brilliant  fancy  with  acute  intellect,  which  would 
have  excited  more  admiration  than  it  has  done,  if  it, 
had  been  dedicated  to  the  amusement  of  the  great  and 
the  learned,  instead  of  being  consecrated  to  the  far 
more  noble  office  of  consoling,  instructing,  and  reform 
ing  the  poor  and  the  forgotten."  And  of  his  eloquence, 
"  it  is  not  a  puny  and  gaudy  bauble,  fashioned  by  the 
tools  and  tricks  of  a  mechanical  rhetorician ;  it  is  the 
natural  effusion  of  a  fertile  imagination,  of  an  ardent 
mind,  and  of  a  heart  glowing  with  zeal  for  truth,  with 
reverence  for  God,  and  with  love  for  men." 

This  would  so  far  describe  Larned.  That  fine  union 
of  intellectual  vigor  with  an  elegant  imagination,  joined 
to  strong  and  deep  feeling,  which  contribute  so  much 
to  fix  a  character,  was  manifest  in  Larned.  To  this 
combination  may  be  added  those  qualities  \vhich  con 
stitute  decision,  such  as  a  firm  confidence  in  our  own 
judgment,  to  which  Foster  assigns  the  first  place  ;  then 
"  a  state  of  cogent  feeling,  an  intense  ardor  of  mind, 
precluding  indifference  and  delay."  Finally,  a  sus 
tained  moral  courage,  which  boldly  meets  opposition, 
calmly  endures  desertion,  and  confidently  commands 
success.  All  these  properties  might  be  found  opening 
to  the  view  of  the  observer  of  his  character.  He  had 


KEY.    SYLVKSTER    T.AENED.  351 

not  lived  long  enough  to  assure  us  of  the  continued  de 
velopment  of  those  qualities  which  Foster  ascribes  to 
Howard ;  in  his  estimate,  the  model  of  the  right  kind 
of  decision  of  character.  Of  the  energy  of  his  deter 
mination  he  says,  that  "  it  was  the  calmness  of  an  in 
tensity  kept  uniform  by  the  nature  of  the  human  mind 
forbidding  it  to  be  more,  and  by  the  character  of  the 
individual  forbidding  it  to  be  less.  The  habitual  pas 
sion  of  his  mind  was  a  measure  of  feeling  almost  equal 
to  the  temporary  extremes  and  paroxysms  of  common 
minds ;  as  a  great  river  in  its  customary  state  is  equal 
to  a  small  or  moderate  one  when  swollen  to  a  torrent." 
With  eminent  truth  might  these  remarks  be  applied  to 
Whitefield,  the  almost  miraculous  prolongation  of  whose 
labors,  and  the  brilliancy  of  whose  success,  indicated  a 
mind  furnished  by  nature  and  grace  with  the  most  ex 
alted  endowments.  His  course  implied  "  an  incon 
ceivable  severity  of  conviction  that  he  had  one  thing  to 
do,  and  that  he  who  would  do  some  great  thing  in  this 
short  life  must  apply  himself  to  the  work  with  such  a 
concentration  of  his  forces,  as  to  idle  spectators,  who 
live  only  to  amuse  themselves,  looks  like  insanity."  So 
did  Lamed.  He  gave  himself  up  to  one  self-denying 
work,  that  of  home  missions — to  missionary  work  in 
the  most  dangerous  and  destitute  parts  of  his  beloved 
country.  He  had  repeated  calls  to  parishes  in  refined 
cities,  and  amid  scenes  of  rural  beauty  and  salubrity, 
from  which  it  would  seem  almost  impossible  to  turn 
away ;  quite  so  for  an  ordinary  mind,  but  he  was  re 
solved.  He  would  not  leave  his  post  of  danger  and 
trial  in  New  Orleans  for  any  fairer  sphere ;  no,  said  he, 
"  not  for  the  bishopric  of  New  England — of  creation." 


352  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

It  was  a  forlorn  hope.  The  yellow  fever  was  raging 
around  him ;  its  victims  were  daily  carried  to  the  grave. 
His  friends  were  disappearing  under  the  fatal  malady ; 
lie  might  next  be  summoned.  It  was  the  battle-field 
of  Death — more  fearful  than  the  ordinary  battle-field, 
for  there  the  foe  is  seen.  Here  the  victim  was  struck 
down  by  an  invisible  hand.  "  I  throw  myself,"  he 
wrote,  "  into  the  hands  of  a  wise  God,  and  hope  for 
grace  to  meet  all  his  allotments."  On  the  last  Sabbath 
in  August,  1820,  he  selected  for  his  text,  as  if  with  a 
kind  of  prescience  of  the  future,  the  words  of  the  heroic 
martyr  who  was  "always  delivered  unto  death  :"  "For 
me  to  live  is  Christ,  and  to  die  is  gain."  His  manly 
form,  which  was  one  of  superior  elegance  and  majesty, 
stood  erect  in  the  pulpit,  while  various  emotions  were 
struggling  within,  and  finally,  having  completed  his  dis 
course,  he  sat  down  and  wept !  The  next  day  he  was 
attacked  by  the  yellow  fever,  and  on  Thursday,  the  day 
on  which  he  completed  his  twenty-fourth  year,  he  died. 
A  costly  sacrifice,  but  in  a  noble  cause,  for  a  glorious 
Master,  and  with  victorious  results.  The  public  seemed 
unwilling  to  believe  the  report  of  Ids  death.  Was  that 
voice,  whose  enchanting  tones  thrilled  through  the 
hearts  of  assembled  thousands  in  Kew  Orleans,  to  be 
heard  no  more  ?  Must  the  youthful  orator  descend  so 
early,  so  abruptly  from  the  theater  of  his  fame,  to  en 
ter  the  cold  and  inhospitable  sepulcher,  where  all  elo 
quence  is  dumb,  all  beauty  decays,  all  grace  perishes, 
and  the  form  that  was  instinct  with  life  becomes  the 
image  of  death,  and  is  abandoned  to  its  last  repose  by 
the  living  and  the  loving,  as  it  has  already  been  aban 
doned  by  the  animating  soul ;  and  there,  under  the 


KEY.    SYLVESTER    LABNED.  353 

moldering  drapery  that  hangs  gloomily  over  its  couch, 
sleeps  its  long  sleep,  undisturbed  by  the  rush  of  the 
world  without,  unaffected  by  its  own  humiliation ;  the 
same  to  the  king  and  the  beggar,  for  splendid  robes  and 
sordid  rags  would  nlolder  and  crumble  alike  there ;  the 
same  for  saint  and  sinner ;  only  the  flesh  of  the  former 
rests  in  ho*pe,  till  this  corruption  shall  put  on  incorrup- 
tion,  and  this  mortal  shall  put  on  immortality  ?  Yes, 
this  is  the  lot  of  all. 

It  should  not  so  much  concern  us  how,  when,  or 
where  we  die,  as  how  to  live.  So  the  angel  in  Milton, 
speaking  to  Adam  now  fallen : 

"  Nor  love  thy  life,  nor  hate ;  but  what  thou  livest 
Live  well ;  how  long  or  short  permit  to  Heaven." 

This  is  the  true  philosophy,  which  none  can  gainsay. 
Still,  it  is  a  dictate  of  nature,  of  reason,  and  propriety, 
of  the  very- oracles  of  God,  to  lament  the  departure  01 
the  great  and  the  good.  "  The  removal  of  any  worthy 
minister  while  in  full  possession  and  activity  of  his 
faculties,  is  a  mournful  occurrence;  but  there  is  the 
consideration  that  many  such  remain,  and  that  per 
haps  an  equal  may  follow,  where  the  esteemed  instruct 
or  is  withdrawn.  But  the  feeling  in  the  present  in 
stance*  is  of  a  loss  altogether  irreparable.  The  culti 
vated  portion  of  the  hearers  have  a  sense  of*  privation 
partaking  of  desolateness.  An  animating  influence  that 
pervaded,  and  enlarged,  and  raised  their  minds,  is  ex 
tinct.  "While  ready  to  give  due  honor  to  all  valuable 

*  Foster  on  the  death  of  Rev.  Robert  HalL 


354  GLEANINGS   AND    GROUPINGS. 

preachers,  and  knowing  that  the  lights  of  religious  in 
struction  will  still  shine  with  useful  lustre,  and  new 
ones  continually  rise,  they  involuntarily  and  pensively 
turn  to  look  at  the  last  fading  colors  in  the  distance 
where  the  greater  luminary  has  set>!" 

Uncultivated  hearers,  too,  mourn  with  an  equal  in 
tensity  and  probably  a  superior  sincerity  of  s'orrow,  the 
death  of  their  spiritual  guide,  as  did  the  peasants  of 
Oberlin  their  beloved  Neff,  and  the  plain  parishioners 
of  Patterson  and  Payson,  their  guides  to  heaven.  The 
gay  and  the  cultivated  may  admire  the  preacher — the 
orator,  whose  eloquence  rouses  all  their  sensibilities — 
but  it  must  be  the  pious  and  the  prayerful  who  admire 
and  love  the  pastor,  the  shepherd,  that  personally  seeks 
out  the  flock,  and  "  calls  them  by  name." 

On  the  youthful  Lamed  all  eyes  were  fixed  in  ad 
miration,  as  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  promising 
pulpit  orators  that  had  appeared  in  the  American  desk ; 
when  he  departed,  therefore,  it  was  as  if  some  radiant 
orb,  to  use  the  words  of  Scott  on  the  death  of  Byron, 
"  had  suddenly  disappeared  from  the  sky,  at  the  mo 
ment  when  every  telescope  was  leveled,"  not  for  the 
purpose,  as  in  the  case  of  Byron,  of  "  examining  the 
spots  which  dimmed  its  brightness,"  but  to  behold  its 
unstained  splendors,  and  to  anticipate  with  gladness  its 
future  path  in  the  holy  sphere  to  which  it  seemed  as 
signed  by  the  will  of  God.  Alas  !  that  it  should  be  so 
soon  and  suddenly  struck  from  its  heavenly  orbit. 

"  Alas  for  us !  but  not  for  thee : 

We  cannot  choose  but  weep  the  more 
Deep  for  the  dead  the  grief  must  be, 
Who  ne'er  gave  cause  to  mourn  before  !" 


KEV.    SYLVESTER   LAENED.  355 

As  the  Apocalyptic  angel  that  was  seen  standing  in 
the  sun  towered  in  majesty  far  above  the  ordinary  train 
of  angelic  spirits,  that  waited  on  the  throne  of  the  Su 
preme,  however  excellent  their  glory,  so  it  is  given  to 
some  among  the  sons  of  genius  to  be  pre-eminent  in 
intellectual  stature ;  to  develop  more  profound  sensi 
bilities  ;  to  exercise  a  certain  moral  power  over  their 
fellow-men,  to  which  by  a  sort  of  natural  dictate  of  the 
inward  man  submission  is  yielded  on  their  part.  The 
mind  of  Larned  was  one  of  great  activity.  In  private 
conversation  he  was  rapid,  full,  overpowering.  With 
burning  enthusiasm  he  gave  utterance  to  the  teeming 
thoughts  of  his  rich  and  fertile  mind.  He  had  a 
strongly  marked  voice,  which  was  in  keeping  with  the 
style  of  his  mind.  Ideas  seemed  stirring  within  him 
with  an  energy  amounting  almost  to  impetuosity ;  and 
they  would  take  wing  in  private  conversation  or  public 
speaking  with  a  freedom  and  boldness,  alternately  rous 
ing,  fascinating,  surprising,  or  astonishing.  His  ex 
temporaneous  powers  were  of  the  first  order.  As  some 
lofty  conception  arose  in  his  mind,  his  brow  would 
gather,  his  fine  blue  eye  sparkle,  as  if  the  very  genius 
of  persuasion  sat  enthroned  in  its  orb,  and  raising  his 
arm,  he  would  retire  a  little,  and  then  advancing 
with  a  comb^pfcd  dignity  and  grace,  would  pour  upon 
his  delighted  auditors  the  full  and  flowing  tide  of  a 
natural  and  resistless  eloquence.  There  were  times 
when  he  seemed  utterly  unable  to  repress  those  out- 
gushings  of  feeling  from  the  deep  fountains  within, 
which  so  well  authenticate  the  sentiment  of  Horace, 
"  Si  vis  me  flere,"  &c.,  and  the  effect  is  well  remem 
bered  bv  those  who  sat  under  his  preaching,  and  whose 


356  GLEANINGS   AND   GROUPINGS. 

sensibilities  responded  to  those  of  the  impassioned  ora 
tor.  Who  could  behold  those  outward  symbols  of  the 
conflicting  emotions  that  agitated  his  anxious  bosom 
without  inwardly  exclaiming :  This  is  no  fictitious  ex 
hibition  ;  it  is  nature ;  it  is  the  necessity  of  the  man  in 
his  condition — the  ambassador  of  God  to  guilty  men. 
Those  tears  are  such  as  he — the  Incarnate  One — would 
have  shed  in  the  like  circumstances  ;  such  as  He  did  shed 
when,  standing  by  the  grave  of  a  fellow-man,  and  recol 
lecting  the  sentence  which  Avenging  Justice  had  in 
the  day  of  the  apostasy  pronounced  on  the  race :  "  Dust 
thou  art,  and  unto  dust  shalt  thou  return,"  He  asked, 
"  Where  have  ye  laid  him  ?"  and  burst  into  weeping ! 
Oh,  heaven-born  sympathy !  pouring  out  thy  heart  on 
the  ruins  of  humanity,  not  in  despair,  but  in  hope  of  a 
noble  regeneration  on  earth,  and  a  final  resurrection  to 
glory !  Victorious  faith !  that  can  extract  the  sting  of 
death,  and  disarm  the  grave  of  its  terrors.  These  and 
kindred  themes  are  the  sources  of  pulpit  eloquence. 
What  is  the  grandeur  of  States  and  empires  when  laid 
in  the  scale  with  the  destiny  of  the  deathless  soul  ? 

Larned  was  accustomed  to  select  great  subjects,  both 
because  they  were  congenial  to  his  mind,  which  pos 
sessed  a  natural  breadth  and  comprehensiveness,  and 
because  he  felt  a  conscious  power  of  reaching,  so  far  as 
it  is  given  to  man  to  attain,  to  the  height  of  their  great 
argument,  and  of  setting  forth  their  correlative  truths 
in  due  harmony  and  proportion. 

The  Rev.  R.  R.  Gurley,  in  his  brief  and  eloquent 
"  Life  of  Larned,"  remarks  that  there  will  be  found  in 
his  sermons  "  a  combination  of  unity  and  simplicity,  of 
beauty  and  force,  of  imagination  and  passion,  of  har- 


KEY.    SYLVESTER   LARNED.  357 


mony  and  just  proportion,  of  fullness  and  completeness, 
extremely  rare  in  our  own  or  in  any  other  language. 
Closely  and  compactly  wrought,  the  purpose  of  the 
whole  seems  pervading  every  part,  while  each  part  con 
tributes  essentially  to  the  one  object  of  the  whole." 

Though  in  him  dwelt  the  poetic  spirit  and  feeling, 
"  the  vision  and  faculty  divine,"  under  the  influence  of 
which  he  occasionally  indulged  in  a  secret  worship  of 
the  muses,  he  felt  that  higher  duties  demanded  the  re 
straint  of  that  propension,  and  on  one  occasion  only 
did  he  permit  any  poetic  composition  from  his  pen  to  be 
made  public ;  an  ode  which  was  sung  at  an  agricultu 
ral  festival  in  his  native  village  of  Pittstield. 

In  the  science  of  moral  demonstration,  as  well  as  in 
the  more  popular  department  of  homiletics,  he  excelled. 
His  few  published  sermons  abundantly  sustain  this  re 
mark.  In  them  maybe  seen  the  habitual  subservience 
of  a  naturally  exuberant  imagination  to  the  purposes 
of  high-toned,  essential,  and  sublime  truth.  The  "  airy 
servitors"  of  the  beautiful  faculty  fall  gracefully  into 
their  humble  places,  content  to  wait  on  the  nobler  forms 
of  masculine  thought,  or  to  be  considered  as  modest 
gems  on  the  main  texture  of  the  discourse.  If,  as  Sir 
Walter  Scott  has  said,  "  originality  is  the  first  attribute 
of  genius,"  then  might  this  young  American  preacher 
justly  claim  the  divine  endowment.  He  was  too  rich 
in  the  treasures  of  thought  to  borrow  even  from  the 
more  wealthy.  He  was  too  impulsive  to  copy  even 
from  masters.  He  repaired  to  his  own  golden  urn,  and 
thence  with  enthusiasm  drew  the  sparkling  element 
with  which  he  refreshed  other  minds.  He  took  the 
mysterious  key  intrusted  to  him  by  the  Creator,  and 


i 


358  GLEANINGS    AND    GROUPINGS. 

with  it  unlocked  magazines  of  thought,  emotion,  and 
persuasion,  with  which  to  instruct,  to  rouse,  and  to 
convince.  To  act,  and  to  act  with  the  greatest  effect, 
on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  was  one  of  his  distin 
guishing  qualifications.  It  was  when  under  vigorous 
exercise  that  his  genius  assumed  a  genial,  characteristic 
glow ;  it  was  when  his  mind,  lighted  up  by  the  rays  of 
truth,  was  wakened  into  clear  and  energetic  action, 
that  its  fine  qualities  were  perceived,  as  the  sculptured 
devices  on  a  beautiful  alabaster  vase  are  best  seen 
when  it  is  illuminated  within ;  or,  to  quote  the  language 
of  a  poet,  contemplating  the  object  of  his  admiration : 

"  Viewed  round  and  round,  as  lucid  diamonds  throw, 
Still  as  you  turn  them,  a  revolving  glow, 
So  did  his  mind  reflect  with  secret  ray, 
In  various  beauty,  heaven's  refulgent  day." 

We  have  an  American  eloquence  in  the  pulpit,  us 
well  as  at  the  bar  and  in  the  legislative  forum.  It  is 
bold  and  free,  like  the  physical  features  of  our  country ; 
clear  and  sparkling,  like  our  native  lakes ;  often  orig 
inal  and  striking,  like  our  forest  views ;  and,  like  our 
character,  eminently  practical.*  Larned's  eloquence 
delighted  Western  people,  among  whom  he  traveled — 
the  rough  and  the  rude,  as  well  as  the  polished  and  the 
cultivated.  The  former  became  gentle  under  its  influ 
ence  ;  the  latter  were  charmed  with  his  elegance,  and 
awed  by  his  faithfulness.  The  trump  of  fame  had 
widely  spread  his  name,  when  the  "  insatiate  archer" 

*  One  of  Larned's  most  splendid  efforts  is  said  to  have  been  made 
at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  his  church  on  a  4th  of  July,  when 
he  addressed  an  assembly  of  seven  thousand  people. 


REV.    SYLVESTER   LARKED.  359 

laid  the  shaft  on  the  string,  and  he  fell,  like  a  daring 
warrior,  in  the  front  of  the  battle.  He  counted  not  his 
life  dear  to  him,  that  he  might  finish  his  course  with 
joy,  and  deliver  his  testimony  for  God.  Humanity 
wept  at  the  sacrifice ;  Charity  drooped  her  head  in  ten 
der  sorrow ;  Faith  bowed  with  reverent  submission  to 
the  high  behest  of  heaven,  while  Hope  lifted  the  veil 
from  the  bosom  of  the  future,  and  pointed  us  to  the 
upward  flight  of  the  ransomed  spirit  to  its  home  among 
the  spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect  in  heaven.  The  loss 
to  the  Church  was  great  and  palpable ;  to  Ms  church 
it  was  irreparable. 

The  form  of  Earned  was  tall,  stately,  and  upright ; 
strong  in  the  vigor  of  youth ;  capable  of  great  endur 
ance.,  Greenough  would  not  have  desired  to  look  far 
ther  for  a  model  of  an  Apollo.  It  combined  in  impressive 
proportions  the  qualities  of  strength  and  beauty,  hap 
pily  corresponding  to  the  character  of  his  mind.  If 
either  preponderated,  it  was  the  first.  His  face  pos 
sessed  a  manly  beauty,  from  the  fascination  of  which 
it  was  difficult  to  escape.  A  rich  and  expressive  blue 
distinguished  his  large,  transparent  eye,  that  mirror  of 
the  soul's  thoughts  and  emotions.  The  configuration 
of  his  mouth  was  very  striking.  It  resembled  an  arch 
er's  bow,  unstrung,  but  conveying  the  idea  of  power  in 
rest.  And  so,  indeed,  did  the  words  of  that  mouth 
"  abide  in  strength,"  like  the  bow  of  Joseph,  the  "  arms 
of  whose  hands  were  made  strong  by  the  hands  of  the 
mighty  God  of  Jacob."  But  the  visible  symbols  of  the 
invisible  and  intellectual  are  turned  to  dust.  Sleep  on, 
dear  youth,  till  He  who  is  the  resurrection  and  the  life 
shall  reanimate  that  dust,  and  restore  that  form  to  the 


360  GLEANINGS    AND   GROUPINGS. 

likeness  of  himself  in  incorruptible  beauty  and  unfad 
ing  glory.  With  the  sainted  Heber,  who,  like  Larned, 
fell  by  the  pestilence  in  the  missionary  field,  we  may 
sing  in  elegiac  strains  : 

"  Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  but  we  will  not  deplore  thee, 

Since  God  was  thy  ransom,  thy  guardian,  thy  guide ; 
He  gave  thee,  he  took  thee,  and  he  will  restore  thee, 
And  Death  hath  no  sting,  since  the  Saviour  has  died." 


THE  END. 


I 


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"•^  •*"' 

A.  3.  BARNES  &  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


^CHAMBERS'   EDUCATIONAL.  COURSE,  1 


NATUR 


SCIENCES, 


•• 

t 

£i=  The  Messrs.  Chambers  have;  employed  the  first  professors  in  Scotland  in  the  prepa-  ' 

}  ration  of  these  works.  They  are  now  offered  to  the  schools  of  the  United  rUaU1*. 
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fc-£>  Public  Schools  tXAe  eity  and  county  of  New  York. 

I.    CHAMBERS'    TREASURY    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 
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£t    III.    CHAMBERS'    ELEMENTS    OF    NATURAL    PHILOSOPHY. 
?^    IV.    REID    &    BAINS'  CHEMISTRY    AND    ELECTRICITY. 

!     V.    HAMILTON'S  VEGETABLE   ANJ3   ANIMAL  PHYSIOLOGY. 
||;    VI.    CHAMBERS'    ELEMENTS    OF    ZOOLOGY. 
[*VII.    PAGE'S    ELEMENTS    OF    GEOLOGY. 


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'  L**.**.**.**^****** 


A.  S.  BARNES  A  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


NATURAL  MD  JEXPERDIEMAL  PHILOSOPHY,     J 

FO$  seiiQ"cu,s  AND  AC  A  D  E-M  i  E  s".  * 

BY'  R.  G.  PARKER,   A.  M.  " 

Author  of"  Hnctorieal  Rcaarr  '    "  Exercises  in  English  Composition,' 
'"  Outlines  of  History,"  etc.,  etc. 

. •£•- 

V..-Y-  t      •  * 

<t     I.    PARKER'S    JUVENILE     PHILOSOPHY. 

xj     II.    PARKER'S    FIRST   LESSONS   IN   NATURAL    PHJLOSOPHY.   | 
:;.    PARKER'S    SCHOOL    COMPENDIUM    OF    PHILOSOPHY.    ;j 

ia?x    The  use  of  School  Apparatus  for   illustrating  and  exemplifying  the  principles  o;" 

**•.  of  Natural  and  Experimental  Philosophy,  hits,  within  the  last  few  years,  become  no  .ji 

tl  as  to  render  necessary  a  work  whic,h  should  combine,  in  the  same 'course  of  =£'. 

struction,  Ihe  theory  with  a  full  description  of  the  apparatus  necessary  for  illus-  ^ 

iiion  and  experiment.     Th«  work  of  Piofessor  !%rker,  it  is  confidently  believed,  •.?• 

.My  meets  that  requirement.     It  is  also  very  full  in  the  general  facts  which  it  pre-  "; 

.;, is— clear   and   concise    in  iU  style— and  entirely  scientific  .and  natural   in  its  "; 

•rangcmunt. 

c<- 

••This  work  is  better  adapted  to  the  present  Ante  of_natural  science  than  any  : 
@J"  other  similar  production  with  which  we  are  acquainted."—  IVnijne  Co.  H'liig. 

-This  is  a  HChool-book  of  no  mean  pretensions  and  no  ordinary  value." — Albany  ^ 
*Vf°  -Spectator.  .  ;T 

u  We  predict  for  this  valuable  and  beautifully-printed  work  the  utmost  success."  j|. 
|S?!r  — Newark  Daily  .Advertiser. 

'•  The  present  yolume  Btrikes  us  as  having  very  marked  merit."— JV.  Y.  Courier.    3- 

;      "It  seems  to  me  to  have  hit  a  happy  medium  between  the  too  simple  and  the  c|. 
35T  too  abstract."— li  A.  Smith,  Principal  of  Leicester  .ficademy.  Mast-.  c|. 

rOBi  2i 

"I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  Parker's  Natural  Philosophy  is  the  most  £ 

•  ^^  valuable  elementiyy.work  I  have  seen."— Gilbert  Langdon  Jfume,  Prof.JVat.  Phil.  JJ 

S^*  JV.  J'.  City.  ,  ci. 

-  I  am  happy  to  say  that  Parker's  Philosophy  will  be  introduced  and  adopted  in  i 

Victoria  College,'  at  the  commencement  of  the.  next  collegiate  year  in  autumn;  4. 

'i   and  1  hope  that  will  be  but  the  commencement  of   the  use  of  so  valuable  an  ele-   .; 

'"•ntar»  work  in  our  schools  in  this  country.     The  small  work  of  Parker's  < Parker's    ,-. 

r<t  Lessons)  was  introduced  the  last  term  In  a  primary  .class  of  the  institution    .'. 

So  referred  to,  and  that  with  great  success.    I  intend  to  recommend  its  use  shortly  into  ;t 

**  the  model  school  in  this  city,  and  the  larger  work  to  the  students  of  the  provincial  =s. 

/P4    Normal  School."— £.  lii/eraon,  Superintendent  of  Public  Instruction  of  Upper  Canada.  ^. 

i     "I  have  examined  Parker's  First  Lessons  and  Compendium  of  Natural  and  Ex-  J. 

jP  perimental  Philosophy,  and-  am  much  pleased  with  them.  I  have  long  felt  dissalis- 
^3°  faction  with  the  Text-Books  on  this  subject  most  in  use  in  this  section,  and  am 

"^°  happy  now  to  find  books  tuat  I  can  recommend.  I  shall  introduce  them  imme 
i&£  (1  iatefy  into  my  school."— Hiram  Urcutt.  Principal  of  Thetford  Academy,  Vrrmofi- 

-^•f3  "  I  Alve  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  it  the  best  work  on  the  subject  now publisned. 
&-&  We  shall  use  it  here,  and  I  have  already  secured  its  adoption  in  some  of  the  high- 
^'f  sclwols  and  academ  ies  in  our  vicinity."— M.  I) .  I<cggett,  SOp.  Warren  Public  Schools 

jjS%  ****'?•***  *  *  *  *!-  ''>  -?  '- 

K»  '  " 


